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kyidyl · 4 years

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Kyidyl Explains Bones - Part 6

(All of these are under the KyidylBones tag.)

Age Determination

Well, age at death anyway. I’m gonna put this warning up front:

Today’s post will contain pictures of the skeletons of children. This is something that a lot of people, even those who think they won’t be bothered, find upsetting. This goes double if you actually have children. This post will also include frank discussion of child death.

You have been warned.

So what is age determination? Age determination isn’t the process of figuring out how old a set of remains is, it’s the process of figuring out how old the individual was when they died. Because of the sensitive nature of the topic, I’m putting everything behind a cut today.

Ethics: Beyond the normal respectful approach, there aren’t separate ethical considerations with dealing with age like there are for sex and race. Just be considerate of the fact that child death is super upsetting to some people. I literally had people in my classes at the masters level who were moved to tears by some of the younger remains, so even when you’re used to looking at things from a clinical perspective, kids can be tough.

General: Age is separated into three general categories: juvenile (0-early 20s), adult, and elderly. Juveniles are from birth until the last known skeletal change takes place. IE, until all your teeth come in and all your bones fuse. These are really good indicators of age, so we use them as much as we can for as long into the lifespan as we can. Adults range from “done growing” to “showing signs of degeneration” EG, arthritis and that kind of thing. Elderly is anything older than that.

Also, this applies to all age categories: size is not an indicator of age. Ever.

Juveniles: We say juveniles instead of children because people in their late teens and early 20s aren’t really children, but they haven’t finished growing yet. So juvenile is a more inclusive term, and the more accurate one. That said, kids are by FAR the easiest to know the age of. Juvenile remains do not look like small adult remains, because juveniles that have skeletons that do not resemble adult skeletons beyond the basic “ah, that’s probably a human”.

There are a few ways that we determine the age of a juvenile, and the first thing we check is the teeth. Before the body, before any other signs. Because the teeth are consistently accurate across race, sex, economic standing, any pathologies, etc. Teeth are formed and come in on a schedule. Here is that schedule:

And here is a link to a high res PDF version that you absolutely should take a look at (Source).

Beyond this, the 3rd molar AKA wisdom teeth come in between ages 17-25. Now, archaeological remains won’t have scars on the bone from the wisdom teeth removal that a lot of people commonly undergo, but in the future that will be visible on the bone. I’ll get into this more when I get around to doing the damage and pathology posts, but healed bone has a different appearance than unbroken bone, so a healed-over tooth socket has a different appearance than bone that never had a tooth there to begin with. In addition, while tooth eruption in a living juvenile is accepted as the time when the tooth breaks through the gums, in the remains of a juvenile we can see un-erupted teeth within the jaw. It looks like this:

(Source)

As an aside: those lines on the teeth are called enamel hypoplasia, and I’ll cover it more in the teeth post, but essentially if you don’t get proper nutrition as a child when your adult teeth are developing in your jaw you get these lines in them.

So anyway, because teeth come in on such a precise schedule, and because teeth survive better than anything else in your body (especially in a child’s body. Childrens’ bones are fragile, partially ossified, and they decay quickly.), they’re very good for estimating age at death. Even more so than bones, because bones can be altered by illness, malnutrition, repetitive activity, or genetic anomalies. Teeth almost never are. Or, rather, their rate of growth isn’t.

Another thing we look for when determining age at death is the fusion of the bones. See, as you’re growing you have more bones. Those get larger until they meet up with the bone they’re part of, and then they start to fuse. These are called epiphysis (growth plates). Very young children don’t even have entirely ossified (bone instead of cartilage) bones, let along epiphysis that touch. Babies don’t show up often in the archaeological record because of this. To better illustrate this, here is an image of an xray of a baby’s hand:

(Source)

You’ll notice that the finger bones (Metacarpals and carpels, known collectively as phalanges.) have small little bones at the ends that aren’t attached - that’s not an anomaly, that’s normal. Those are the physis, which will fuse later in life after they are larger, and the plate between them from which they grow is the epiphysis. You can also see that the wrist bones have barely begun to ossify and don’t show up on the xray, and the physis for the radius and ulna (arm bones) also haven’t begin to ossify and thus don’t show up - that’s why the arm bones look like one bone. They aren’t, they have an epiphysis at either end (Your elbow is a separate bone called the olecranon and it doesn’t fuse until later on.). This happens at a very predictable rate, and so we can tell how old someone is from a combination of their teeth and which bones have and have not ossified and fused. In addition, the bone of the epiphysis has a unique texture that is referred to as “billowy” in the literature (even tho I hate that word). Here’s a picture:

(Source)

The one on the left is what you want to look at, since this is a progression through age. Also I sniped this from a paper on age estimation, so if you’re interested in this take a look at it. It’s on researchgate so it’s not behind a paywall. As an aside: researchgate is amazing and you should all learn to use it.

Anyway, see that bumpy texture on the left? That’s what unfused bone looks like at the growth plate. This actually applies to, as far as I know, all land mammals. So if you find animal bones with this texture at the end of the bone, then that animal was a juvenile when it died. Bones fuse at different times in your life, but we know the times when they fuse. There are 206 bones in the adult body, so that would be a lot for me to try and put in a tumblr post, but if you google a specific bone you should be able to find the ages they fuse. I believe, if memory serves, that the skull sutures are the last to fully fuse, and they in fact continue to become more tightly fused as your life goes on. I’ll cover that in the next section tho. It will hold together as a teenager, but the skull bones take a long time to fuse to each other. Two of the last epiphysis to fuse though are the iliac crest (The curved part of the hip - it’s actually its own separate bone. Like just the small, smooth curved part.) and the sternal end of the clavicle (clavicle = collarbone, and the sternal end is the medial part towards the sternum.). This happens in your early to mid 20s.

So teeth and bone fusion are the two most used methods of age estimation. So if anyone ever shows you a small skeleton with fused bones and calls it a child, roll your eyes at them. It’s not a child.

One last note on juvenile skeletons: until the individual undergoes puberty, sex and race determinations are extremely difficult (teeth can be used for race, but not for sex. Not really, anyway.). So again, anyone who professes to know the sex of a set of pre-pubescent remains without like...a gravestone or something telling them is probably a liar. Right now the methods for doing that are either expensive (genetics) or inaccurate. And doing genetic evaluations on old juvenile remains is difficult, because their bones are more fragile than adult bones and break down easier, which exposes the DNA to easy degradation. It’s not impossible, it’s just usually more difficult and more expensive.

For reference, here is a juvenile skeleton laid out in standard anatomical position. There is more than one individual here, so ignore any of the bones outside the arms and above the head.

(Source)

Adults and the Elderly: After an individual finishes growing, estimating their age becomes increasingly difficult. There’s no such thing as, for example, an average number of tooth cavities. In addition, the natural growth and destruction of your bone cells over your lifetime means that things you do habitually can significantly alter the shape of your bones and the rate at which they break down.

However, there are a few things that can be used. Joints wear down at a fairly consistent rate, and arthritis leaves specific markers on the bones that we can identify as arthritis rather than normal wear and tear. This is most easily views in two places: the public symphasis (the front where your two hip bones meet.) and the acetabulum (The socket that the round end of your thigh bone is in.). The picture I used above is an image of the wear and tear seen on a series of pubic symphysises (symphysii? IDK.). And so these are matched against skeletons whose age at death was known and age ranges for changes to this area were arrived at.

When I was doing my MSc, we did a project where we were assigned a set of remains and had to use everything we’d learned in the course to do a full evaluation of our skeletons. Well, the majority of my skull was missing and so I used the acetabulum to do age estimation on the skeleton (I had some teeth, but not most of the ones that are diagnostic of age, which I’ll cover in a sec.). This is an image from and a link to one of the papers I used:

(Source)

Two things happen here as you age. One, the edges of the socket become damaged and it starts to change the anatomy (F is oldest). Two, that space in the middle is called the acetabular fossa, or the acetabular notch. And as you can see, the shape of it changes over time due to normal wear and tear. In combination with resources like the one I linked, we can use this to estimate the age of an adult or elderly individual.

Another tool we use has to do with the fusion of your growth plates. After the bones fuse, the line is still visible. Throughout your life the remodeling (normal breakdown/growth of bones and healing from damage.) causes the sutures to be come less and less visible. We call this obliteration. In the elderly, most of their sutures and growth plates will be completely obliterated. For example, the femur is in four pieces as a child. The main body of the femur, the head of the femur, the greater trochanter (The big bump on the top outside. This is like...the part that’s wides below your hips where your thigh meets your pelvis, but on the outside.), and the condyles (the rounded pieces on the far end.). The greater trochanter fuses and obliterates pretty early on, but the head and the condyles are pretty easy to see even in adults. Here’s an example showing the femoral head:

(Source)

As you can see, the trochanter has fused and is obliterated, but the head has fused and you can still see the line from the growth plate. The sutures in the skull are especially good for this, as cranial sutures take the majority of the lifespan to obliterate (sometimes they never fully do.). If you see a smooth skull, that person was ooooold.

The last easily accessible way we assess age at death is via tooth wear. Now, this won’t work in modern skeletons, which is why there’s a lot of research surrounding the evaluation of age at death. We’re well aware that after humans entered roughly the industrial age, our foods became soft and teeth no longer wear like they should, and after that point in time it’s not possible to use the standardized methods of tooth wear to evaluate age. Well, I should rephrase, it won’t be possible in westernized and industrialized societies. Cultures in Africa and South America that still practice pastoral or hunter/gatherer lifestyles will likely still have expected tooth wear. Anyone who lives in a society that has and uses grocery stores or doesn’t use two rocks to mill flour (Do not underestimate how much bread people ate.), is not going to have expected tooth wear (so it’s not about rural vs city.).

See, it’s normal and natural for teeth to wear. It’s normal and natural for the yellowish substance below the enamel, called dentin, to show. Dentin is almost as hard as enamel, and it actually regrows. We evolved to have tooth wear both on the surfaces and between the teeth. Humans used to eat much tougher foods, and even when we weren’t, our foods had a lot of grit in them (IE, tiny pieces of stone from milling flour. I have a whole ass theory about the role of dirt in the evolution of teeth for all animals but that’s neither here nor there.) and wore our teeth down. Wear isn’t a sign of bad dental hygiene, it’s a sign of a tougher diet. After the industrial age we started using different methods to produce food and started eating softer food overall, so we stopped putting the stresses on our jaws required for both proper tooth wear and the proper growth of our teeth (AKA: wisdom tooth impaction.). So normally worn teeth look like this:

(Source for both images)

If you’ll notice in that top image the lines where the teeth meet fit exactly together. This is because of tooth wear. Interestingly you’ll also notice in the bottom image that this individual’s teeth are unevenly worn, meaning they chewed on the right side of their mouth. This is actually something we see all the time because of both handedness, and insult to the teeth on one side of the aw (AKA it was painful cause they had cavities.). This individual was likely a young adult given that they don’t have a lot of tooth wear to begin with, but they were preferentially using one side of their mouth to chew and so it is more worn than it would be for someone who wasn’t doing that. Here is the chart we use to grade tooth wear and age on adult teeth:

(Source)

That link has a larger version of the chart and more images.

So the fact that I’m 40 and still can feel all the cusps on all of my molars is an anomaly compared to previous humans. Soft foods. So if you compare the above image of the jaw with the chart, you’ll see that the individuals in both pictures have wear in the 25-35yrs old age rage, or what we would consider to be a young adult. And before you start talking about average age of humans back in the day, don’t forget that the average includes a lot of dead children. Once you made it to adulthood you lived a decent amount of time.

So those of you who are older than your 30s or so might not remember this, but when your adult incisors come in they had small ridges on the edges. It was easier to tell on your top teeth (maxillary incisors) than your bottom ones (mandibular incisors.), but it’s present on both. These bad boys:

(Source)

That is obviously a living human, but I’m showing you because they wear quickly. They do, however, wear at a prescribed pace so if a set of remains has them they were young. Sometimes they’re gone before you’re even an adult, but I figured I’d mention them because they are another kind of tooth wear.

Disease: The last thing that helps in age determination are age-based diseases. Namely, osteoarthritis and osteoporosis. There are circumstances wherein someone younger can have both of those pathologies, but that’s why we have all of the other things. So if we see signs of arthritis in a younger person, we’ll have the other signs to help us realize that they aren’t an elderly individual.

Osteoarthritis is, essentially, a thinning of the cartilage, fluid, and other soft tissues in the joints, causing the bones to rub against each other instead of sliding nicely on the cartilage. Now, a certain amount of thinning is expected with age - obviously, as arthritis in the elderly is extremely common even now. But osteoarthritis is an escalation of the normal wear and tear into a pathology. Osteoarthritis damages the joints, and so bone attempts to regrow, so you see a lot of abnormal outgrowths of bone that fit tightly together because they were rubbing against each other. You also see, in extreme cases, striations on the bones where they were grinding together. Like this:

(Source)

This is a knee joint, viewed from the posterior side. You can see on the bottom condyle and the opposing articular surface that there are lines. Those lines are from the bones grinding. You also can see, especially on the tibia, all those little funky looking bone bits. All that roughness sticking out around end, below the flat surface. Some roughness there is normal, but that’s rougher than it should be and that’s the result of osteoarthritis.

The other disease common in the elderly is osteoporosis. Osteoporosis is an illness that causes compact/cortical (the thicker hard bone around the spingy bone to thin and become porous (hence the name.). I’ve held bone with extremely advanced osteoporosis and they are about half the weight of normal bones. So that’s the first sign. The next sign is that they’ll be damaged, both from the natural processes of time and from subsequent handling, because they’re farm more fragile than health adult bone. The vertebra also take on a “squished” appearance due to the forces of gravity and the remodeling during the life of the individual. You also will often see poorly healed breaks (I’ll show you more of this later in this series when I get to pathologies.).

So that brings us to the end of the bit about age determination. Hope you guys are enjoying this series. :) I think next up is gonna be teeth! =D

#science #KyidylBones #archaeology #forensic #forensic anthropology #skeleton #age #human skeleton #human remains #educational #infodump #bones #human bones

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scullydubois · 3 years

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Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

------------------------

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.��

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

---------------------------

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

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dershloop · 3 years

Text

this is part of my Hell On Earth AU but can be read as a standalone thing!! it takes place before the actual plot its just kai mourning over Lloyd.

Title: Now You're Gone

Words: 564

Warnings: Major Character death i guess??? idk its sad. no swearing tho so pog me

Relationships: none. greenflame, dont interact or ill eat ur first borns. nd all of ur children. u ship pedo ships why do u have kids ew.

“Hey big man,” Kai said softly, slowly approaching the dusty headstone. He put down the single flower on the newly turned soil and crouched just next to it, brushing the dirt and dust off of the engraved, metal nameplate. “Lloyd Garmadon,” it read, “2005-2016. A son to few, A brother to some, A Hero to many.” Kai let himself sit on the damp soil next to the headstone, not caring about the early morning due seeping through his jeans. He was numb to the damp; he was numb to the cold. All he felt anymore was pain and regret.

“Sorry I didn’t come to see you for a couple days, things have gotten really busy,” Kai said, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep, “I don’t think anyone really believes what’s going on. They’ve just kinda… stopped talking. None of us talk anymore it’s driving me insane. Even Jay’s gone quiet,” he chucked a little, closing his eyes and remembering a time before all this, “I know. Jay barely says a word anymore. I wish you were here to see it, I think you’d laugh.”

Kai sat in silence for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened. A dangerous idea, really but… it was somewhat comforting. To hear his voice again. He would give anything to just see him again, to hold him and never let him go.

“I know I say this every time I come Lloyd but… I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I didn’t jump in, I could’ve saved you. You might still be here. But,” Kai took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill out his eyes, “Instead, you’re at the bottom of an infinitely deep cavern. Cold… and… and…” He couldn’t finish the thought. He tries with all his might to swallow the rocks lodging themselves in his throat but he couldn’t. He was too weak, he could no longer fight it. The tears started slow, rolling down his face one by one, tracing their own little tracks down his cheeks, before quickly barrelling out. Kai wrapped his arms around the grave, resting his head on the cool stone as he sobbed, wishing he could bring his little brother back.

“I promised I’d look out for you,” Kai sobbed, rubbing his thumb slowly up and down the grainy headstone, feeling minuscule piece come unlodged and attach themselves to his thumb, “I was going to be your older brother and take care of you but I couldn’t even do that. I’m so, so sorry Lloyd,” Kai continued to cry, his tears leaving marks on the cold stone and freshly turned soil.

Reluctantly, Kai pulled back a little, still leaning on the headstone, trying to catch his breath. Tears still streamed down his face, no matter how much he scrubbed at his eyes they wouldn’t stop pumping out tears. It didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t like anyone back at the monastery would care if he went back, red-faced and damp with saliva and snot running down his face. He looked like a child but at this point, it didn’t phase him. He lifted his legs and hugged them into his chest, resting his head against the gravestone. His baby brother was gone, and it was all his fault, of course, nothing phased him. Lloyd was dead and there was nothing he could do about it now.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago kai smith #kai smith #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #ninjago angst #ninjago au #tw: death #cw: death #dersh’s aus

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blacknailpolishonguitarstrings · 3 years

Text

From Above

Magic was a very interesting thing. Powerful but fickle. Healing and caring in the right hands, yet wicked and deadly in the wrong ones. Dangerous. Magic was convenient, but used to its full potential only by a select few, and more often than not, by the ones in the wrong rather than by the deserving ones. As such, magic held many secrets that had yet to be discovered. Amongst those many unexplored areas, ghosts and death were some of the most obscure branches of magic. Wizards and witches knew next to nothing about the Afterlife. Ghosts were the imprints of departed souls, and could of course stay in the world of the living if they wished to do so, but they were forever attached to one place. What no one knew, or at least, remembered, was that if one poured enough emotion into the remembrance of a certain deceased person, their soul would be able to perceive what was happening in the world of the living at that precise moment. The souls of the dead had constant access to their past, of course, they were capable of thoughts and feelings, and they could see what was happening to everything and everyone in the world of the living, but as time passed, that connection grew feebler and feebler. The Dead distanced themselves from the Living more and more the longer they were gone, drifting further away from that thin barrier of Reality, and only a strong emotional connection could bring them back. That is how James and Lily Potter found their old friend Remus Lupin at their grave.

“James,” said Lily softly, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

The logistics behind their ability to touch and feel each other were still unbeknownst and confusing to her, yet they were both ever so glad for it. Being dead…well it wasn’t fun. You merely existed. A lone, wandering soul. Yes, one was able to see the world and witness just about anything they wished, but that connection was unstable and weak at best. Both Lily and James felt themselves slipping away a tiny bit more with each day that passed, and it was an underlying knowledge, a cold hard truth, that someday they would simply cease to exist and fade into nothingness. But for now, they held on, with every bit of strength left in them to the real world. They had the urgent need to stay “alive” as best as they could, given their condition, for Harry, the son they would never see grow up, for Remus, their best friend, who was all alone now, and for Sirius, the one person who was slowly but surely getting dreadfully closer to James and Lily with every minute he spent in that cell, isolated, lost, in pain.

“What is it, love?” Asked James, looking up from the concert taking place in a small pub in London he was watching.

“Look, over there,” replied Lily, pointing into the far distance.

The world stretched beneath them like a small map they could observe closer whenever they felt like it, skipping from place to place in a matter of seconds. In the direction Lily was pointing towards, a grey, cold, graveyard stood in the middle of a town, namely, Godric’s Hollow. And among the marble tombstones, a lone figure kneeled in front of two joint headstones which shone bright and white in the evening, brand new, adorned with wreaths of white lilies.

Remus Lupin. In front of their graves. Behind her, James gasped.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He whispered, already knowing the answer.

“I think so…James, do you feel it? The connection?”

“Yeah, I think I do, it’s almost as if he were…pulling us in.”

Suddenly, they found themselves right above the graveyard, with a direct on-look on it.

“I…I feel close to him, I think his magic is calling us towards him or something. Merlin, this is so strange, how does this even work?” Said Lily, puzzled and slightly frustrated.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you. It must be some form of ancient magic, or maybe Death magic, who knows…in any case nothing we were taught at Hogwarts,” answered James thoughtfully.

His wife nodded in agreement, remaining quiet as she watched her best friend below her. Remus’ shoulders were sagging under an invisible pressure, it appeared as if he would sink into the ground on which he was kneeling at any given second. His hands were hidden in the depth of his old, brown, worn-out coat’s pockets.

“They’re probably balled into fists,” thought Lily knowingly.

Oddly enough he wasn’t crying, and he did not look particularly afflicted. On the contrary, he seemed…numb. He was just there. With no purpose, no emotions, no hysterics, no cries, nothing, he was just there.

“I wish we could talk to him, or at least know what’s going on in his mind,” said James abruptly, interrupting her train of thought.

At that precise moment, Remus pulled out his wand and waved it briefly over the headstones. The fresh flowers on the two graves disappeared in small puffs of sparkles, telltale signs of magic, which hung around fleetingly in the air before vanishing as well. He waved his wand again, and several dark green sprouts spurted from its tip, softly dropping to the ground, small roots snaking into the mushy earth. The plants began to grow in size, intertwining until they formed a complex woven arch of spikes and leaves stretching across the two graves. Here and there, pearlescent white flowers bloomed. White roses.

“He remembers,” murmured Lily, tears welling up in her non-existent eyes, pricking her skin, sliding down her cheeks.

“Oh, love, of course, he does. Besides, those lilies were truly atrocious,” James laughed, but through the rumble of his chuckles, Lily could hear the affliction and the sorrow, thick and overwhelming.

She sighed, hugging him.

“If only we could communicate somehow,” she repeated her husband’s words.

There was another curious thing about magic: it had the uncanny knack to listen to one’s feelings, and sometimes, it was lenient and amalgamated. That is how Lily and James found themselves right next to Remus, still invisible, still unperceived, but there nonetheless, with him, instead of above him. They were both too troubled to think about the trick behind it, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if they were real again. If Lily hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she felt the chilly autumn wind whisper through her formerly auburn hair, she would have sworn she felt the gravel crunch and roll under her feet, she would have sworn she felt her tears slide down her cheeks and freeze on her clammy skin right before they tipped past her chin, and she would have sworn she felt the texture of Remus’ wool coat under her hand as she placed it longingly on his shoulder, heat radiating from him under her palm. But she knew it was nothing more than a mere wish, sometimes she even wondered if she ever truly felt James’ touch, or if it was yet another fragment of her imagination, a shard of her shattered past. Neither of them was sure anymore, if they still resembled their former selves and had a partly physical form or if they were simple spirits, shadows of people, slivers of energy.

Lily and James stood there for long minutes beside their friend, quiet, not daring to move, just watching him, being there with him. Lily would have given anything to know what was going on in his mind, but he remained silent. Finally, as the last few pale rays of sunlight tinted the grey sky a light golden before being swallowed by the night’s shadows, a hoarse whisper escaped his lips:

“I miss you…I…I’m so alone now and I don’t know what to do.”

His head hung low, dull chestnut curls hiding his face, but Lily could tell he was crying by the slight shake of his shoulders. Her heart tightened, clenched by pain, that is if it still existed somewhere.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he continued with more vehemence. “I don’t want to live like this anymore!”

Remus had almost shouted the last few words and looked as if he were about to say something else when the sudden crack of Apparition cut him off. Albus Dumbledore appeared between the gravestones, dressed in dark blue robes, looking tired, eyes wary.

“Remus, I assumed I would find you here. I am very sorry but I must interrupt your mourning, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you. Will you—“

“Professor,” interrupted Remus, finally looking up.

His eyes were puffy and red, and ill-defined traces of tears lined his hollow, bony cheeks. Lily couldn’t help worriedly noticing how much thinner he had gotten, bones pocking out from beneath his coat.

“Do you believe Black killed James and Lily and Peter?”

Next to her, James flinched at the question; Remus hadn’t called Sirius by his last name in years.

“I…I am afraid all the evidence point to that, nothing is indicating otherwise,” answered Dumbledore quietly but resolutely.

“NO!” Vociferated James. “SIRIUS DID NOT KILL US, PETER, THAT TREACHEROUS RAT DID! SIRIUS WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS! HE IS MY BROTHER! HE ISN’T CAPABLE OF MURDERING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!”

“James! James! They can’t hear you, my love, as unjust as this is there is nothing we can do!” Said Lily sadly, attempting to calm her husband down, yet her voice shook with contained fury.

Remus said nothing for a while, looking pensively into the distance, watching as the sun finally set, but something in his gaze had hardened.

“So he killed them,” he declared at last. “Black killed his best friends, those who gave him everything, and he abandoned me and betrayed me too…”

“No! Remus! Listen, it’s false! It’s not what it looks like! Dammit, Remus, listen to me!” Begged James desperately, trying to grasp his friend’s shoulders, but his hand went right through him, slicing through the air.

“He killed them,” repeated Remus bitterly. “I guess the Black in him won, after all, joined Voldemort, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so, yes,” nodded Dumbledore.

The words hit Lily like a punch in the gut as James sunk with a defeated and miserable sigh next to her.

“Old fool,” he mumbled.

#marauders fanfiction #James and lily are dead #jily #albus dumbledore #remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction

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a-blue-secret · 4 years

Text

GENRES: non-idol au, taegyu are fiances, yeonbin are married, not angsty but sad, but it has a happy ending I promise

PAIRING: taegyu, side of yeonbin

WARNINGS: Descriptions of schizophrenia, Beomgyu is dead before the au begins, Taehyun faints but it's nothing major

WORD COUNT: 7.8k+

A.N.: I understand that mental illness is a sensitive topic. Therefore, I have tried to make my account of it as accurate as possible. If I have gotten anything wrong, please just kindly inform me for the next time I may write something like this. -now on ao3 here-

SUMMARY: “Taehyun, please. All jokes aside. Do you… can you actually see him?” Yeonjun asked seriously.

“What do you mean? Of course. I know my fiance anywhere.”

“Ex-fiance, since he’s dead,” Yeonjun muttered: not bitterly, just in a matter-of-fact way. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Taehyun, do you think Beomgyu may just be, you know, part of your… hallucinations?”

People passed by Taehyun, offering their condolences, smiling sympathetically. He smiled back, slightly confused, but took their condolences in his stride.

"Mr. Kang, I understand you were the fiance of Choi Beomgyu?”

“I- yes, I am,” Taehyun answered the old man, slightly confused. The man’s gaze softened, and he patted Taehyun’s arm reassuringly.

“Choi Beomgyu was a good man. Being here, at his funeral… it reminded me of what a wonderful person he was. I am glad I had the pleasure to teach him and know him, before his untimely passing. My condolences, sir.” The man bowed, smiling at Taehyun as he moved away. Taehyun shook his head, confused. Everyone kept on saying Beomgyu was gone. Gosh, that boy really had tricked so many people.

It was odd, really. Taehyun was sitting at home one minute, peacefully drinking a cup of tea, waiting for Beomgyu to come home, but then the next thing he knew he was standing in a black suit in church, everyone weeping over a mahogany box. He just didn't understand it. Nothing was making sense. Taehyun frowned and rubbed his nose. It all started when that pesky police person turned up at his door one night.

-----

Taehyun opened the door, smiling brightly at the person. "Oh hello! You're one of those…police dudes right?"

"Yes, I-I am. Would you happen to be Kang Taehyun?"

"That would be me. How do you do?"

"I am doing, um, fine thank you very much. May I come in?"

"So you're telling me… Gyu is… what? He's 'passed on'?"

The police officer nodded gravely. "Unfortunately so, sir. We are devastated that it had to happen this way. The other car driver has apologised profusely, says he'll pay whatever compensation you need. I know that you will be devastated by this news, as I understand he was your fiance and to have him go so suddenly-" Taehyun could only stand there as the officer's words washed over him. "-again, our deepest condolences, sir."

Taehyun shook his head. "No. He's not gone."

"I understand that it will be difficult for you to process this-"

"No, you don't understand. He- he can't be gone!" Taehyun looked around, for any piece of evidence that Beomgyu was still alive. Suddenly, his face relaxed into a relieved smile. "You're being silly. He's not gone. He's standing right there!"

"What?”

The officer looked to where Taehyun was pointing, confused. "W-Where?"

Taehyun sighs. Honestly, were they blind? Beomgyu was right there. He could see him standing behind the officer, clear as day. He was going to say so, but then Beomgyu pressed a finger to his lips secretively. Taehyun widened his eyes with understanding. Ah, this must be a prank! They're pranking the officer!

"N-nothing, officer," Taehyun said instead. "I- just my brain playing tricks on me."

The police officer smiles sympathetically. They bow, and head for the door. "My condolences. I'm sure Beomgyu was a great man."

Taehyun smiled and saw the officer out. Once he'd closed the door, he spun around, looking for Beomgyu.

"Darling?" he called. "The police are gone now. You can come out." Beomgyu didn't answer him. Odd. Well, perhaps he was in a tricksy mood today. Taehyun shrugged. "Well, I'm going to bed now. You come up when you're ready." Turning away, he swore he heard Beomgyu's gleeful giggle come from behind him. He turned around, smiling at the sound. "Come on, Gyu," he laughed. "It's late. We should get to bed."

-----

From that day onwards, people that Taehyun and Beomgyu knew would turn up at their doorstep, tear stains on their faces. They'd hand Taehyun gifts, draw him in for big hugs, and even burst into tears. Taehyun didn't quite understand what was going on, but judging from how their friends talked it seemed that Beomgyu had pulled a prank to make everyone believe he had passed away. He accepted the gifts with a slight smile, rubbed their backs when they cried, and allowed himself to be drawn into hugs.

"We'll organise the funeral," Soobin had said tearfully, clutching Taehyun's hands tightly. "We promise to give him the most beautiful send-off. Don't you worry."

Yeonjun had given him kisses on each cheek repeatedly. "Gyu meant so much to us as well. We can only imagine how hard it must be for you."

"We're here for you," Hueningkai had promised. "I know you're probably putting on a brave front for us, but I promise you don't have to. We'll understand if you cry."

Seeing his friends so teary and distraught made Taehyun tear up a little too. Their obviously upset faces made him feel a little guilty about the prank Beomgyu had pulled, so he'd leaned forward confidentially and confessed.

"Guys, it's a prank," he whispered. "Gyu-hyung is still alive. It's all a prank."

His friends had looked at each other in an almost sad way.

"Taehyun-ah," Yeonjun said gently. "Is this… is this how you've been trying to cope?"

Taehyun blinked, confused. "What are you talking about? It is a prank. Beomgyu said so."

Soobin sighed, and wrapped an arm around Taehyun. "It's okay, it's okay. We can't believe it either. There's nothing wrong with trying to imagine he's still here, Taehyun, but it's not healthy. We'll have to accept he's gone."

Taehyun squirmed out of the hug. "No, you don't understand. It is really a prank. I can show you. Beomgyu?" He turned around and called for the elder, walking towards the bottom of the stairs in order for him to yell upstairs. "Darling? Come on, we need to prove to Binnie-hyung and the others that it's a prank. Beomgyu? Come on!”

Soobin walked up to Taehyun and attempted to wrap his arms around him again. "It's okay to be in denial, Taehyun."

"He's just being temperamental," Taehyun explained. "I didn't give him a good morning kiss this morning, so he's grumpy." Taehyun frowned. "Although to be fair, he'd woken up before me and decided he wanted to play hide and seek. So it's not really my fault I didn't have time to give him a kiss."

Soobin looked over at Yeonjun and Hueningkai, who had walked over to join them.

"Babe, he's really in denial," Soobin said to Yeonjun. The eldest simply sighed.

"Look, Taehyun. We'll organise the funeral. Heck, we'll pay for everything, even the gravestone. Okay? It's okay to cry over it. It's okay."

Taehyun looked at him, confused. They really didn't get it, huh? "... Sure. You can do that. But trust me, Gyu'll reveal it's a prank soon enough, so don't actually spend money."

Hueningkai's eyes had welled up, and he suddenly snatched Taehyun out of Soobin's grip and pulled him into a big hug of his own.

"It's okay to be scared, Taehyunie," Hueningkai whispered. "We'll be here for you."

Taehyun didn't know what to say to that. He patted Hueningkai's back comfortingly, letting himself be hugged. "Thanks, Hyuka."

Hueningkai leaned back, but kept his hands on Taehyun's shoulders, looking at him with wet eyes. He smiled through tears. "It'll be okay," he said, nodding as if to convince himself. "It'll be okay."

-----

That all happened three weeks ago. Now, Taehyun was getting ready to go to church for a special service. Yeonjun had told him to wear all black and, from that piece of information, he gathered there was a funeral of some sort taking place.

"I just don't understand," Taehyun said conversationally as he fixed his black suit. "We're going to church, and we're wearing black. Who do you think died?"

Beomgyu shrugged.

"Maybe one of Kai's distant relatives? The ones in Hawaii somewhere?" Taehyun carried on. "Can’t be someone we know personally, because then I’d be more upset. Maybe he's bringing us along for moral support."

Taehyun glanced at Beomgyu through the mirror. "Darling? Won't you get dressed?”

Beomgyu stared blankly back at him, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Taehyun sighed. "I'm not sure what I did wrong this time, hyung." He turned around, but Beomgyu had disappeared again. Taehyun frowned. “How do you keep doing that?” he asked, turning around in circles. “Gyu? Beomgyu, darling please, we need to go soon.”

Suddenly, Beomgyu was standing right next to him. Taehyun jumped, and Beomgyu stifled a giggle from behind his hand. Taehyun rolled his eyes, smiling.

“Come on, you,” he said. Then he frowned. “Aren’t you going to wear black?” He shrugged, face clearing. “Oh well. The invitation didn’t specify, so it’s okay. Let’s go then, eh?”

-----

It was the aftermath of the service. Everyone had stayed in the church to have drinks and converse with others, reminiscing about the person who had died.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Taehyun said. "Beomgyu is not dead."

Yeonjun set down his glass, turning to Taehyun with a serious expression. "Okay, stop it. This is getting serious now. We were literally just at his funeral service, and watched him being lowered into a grave. I don't know why you think he's still alive."

"Because he is. Look, he's right there-"

He’s not here! No, you look at me! The only part of him that’s here is his body, and that’s in a coffin!” Yeonjun lashed, finally losing his cool. "He's not here, okay? Stop!" He looked up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears. Just as soon as he’d erupted, Yeonjun calmed himself as quickly. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Taehyun again, who was watching him carefully after the sudden outburst. "Tell me honestly, Taehyun. Do you really believe he's still alive? And think, actually think before you answer.”

To his credit, Taehyun really did stop and think. Did he believe Beomgyu was alive? Well, yes. He did. But… was there much evidence to show that he was? Other than his random appearances around the house, Taehyun wasn’t sure.

“I… I don’t know,” Taehyun said in a small, confused voice. “He has to be, right? Yeah, because he’s over there.” The apprehension cleared from his face when he saw Beomgyu waving from the other side of the garden. Yeonjun turned around, trying to spot what Taehyun was staring at. When he couldn’t find it, he turned back around to face the blond.

“Taehyun, please. All jokes aside. Do you… can you actually see him?” Yeonjun asked seriously.

“What do you mean? Of course. I know my fiance anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyun scoffed. “I don’t hallucinate, hyung.”

“But you think you can see him, can’t you? Even think you can hear him. One minute he’s there, but the next minute he’s disappeared. Right? That’s what has been happening, isn’t it?”

“O-oh,” Taehyun faltered. Beomgyu had been doing that a lot recently, now that he thought about it. “He’s just really fast, you know that hyung,” Taehyun dismissed.

Yeonjun looked unconvinced. “Okay, when was the last time you actually touched him?”

“That’s a silly question, not a day goes by where Beomgyu doesn’t…” Taehyun trailed off. When was the last time they’d actually had skin-to-skin contact? Taehyun can’t remember. “Anyway hyung, what’s your point?”

“I did some research,” Yeonjun said solemnly, spotting Soobin and Hueningkai and waving them over. “Last time we visited you, and you kept saying you could see Beomgyu. I did some research and from what I found, and what you’ve told me just now, I think you might… you might…” Yeonjun struggled to form his next words. It was heartbreaking to think that one of his closest friends might be suffering from any sort of mental disorder. Soobin rubbed his back comfortingly, encouraging Yeonjun to carry on. “I think you might have… schizophrenia.”

Taehyun stared at Yeonjun in horror and fear. “No, no no… I don’t. I’m not sick.”

“We don't know for sure, though,” Soobin added, in an attempt to calm Taehyun down. “We’ll need to go to a doctor for them to properly diagnose you.”

“I don't- I don't want to go to a doctor. I’m not sick, I swear!”

“You don’t have to. I visited the doctor’s a few days ago, described your general behaviours… they said it’s likely that you are.” Yeonjun gulped nervously.

He hated seeing Taehyun look so fearful and stressed, and evidently Hueningkai did as well, for he attempted to hug Taehyun. “They said they’ll treat you, but you have to agree to the medication before they can help you.”

Taehyun pushed Hueningkai off, shaking his head. “I’m not sick. I’m not.”

“Hyunnie, please,” Hueningkai begged, holding onto Taehyun’s arms. “Think. You haven’t truly seen Beomgyu-hyung for weeks. Just random appearances of him, right? That’s because of the… the sickness. He’s not actually here. He hasn’t actually been here for about a month now. Please. Let the doctors treat you. We can’t… I can’t… afford to lose my best friend.”

Taehyun’s eyes glazed over. He sat, silent, before suddenly snapping his gaze back to Hueningkai. “You’re saying… Beomgyu has actually died?”

The younger boy nodded, eyes desperate. “Yes, and your hallucinations aren’t healthy so please-”

“So it wasn’t a prank? He’s actually gone?”

“I mean, yes, that’s why we had a funeral-”

“And he’s left me? All alone?” Taehyun’s eyes welled up, as his gaze moved from Hueningkai’s face to the other side of the garden. Beomgyu was no longer there.

“N-no, Taehyunnie, you still have us,” Hueningkai desperately tried to explain. “You're not alone. We can help you- oh my god!”

Taehyun’s knees had buckled, and he suddenly fell against Hueningkai. His eyes blinked shut, dark eyelashes lying in stark contrast to his paper-white face.

“Hyungs, help,” Hueningkai whimpered to Yeonjun and Soobin, who had just been standing there in shock. Yeonjun immediately sprang into action.

“Babe, lift up his legs,” he instructed. “If you do that, I can pick him up. Hueningkai, run to the car and open it. We’re going to have to take him home.”

-----

After his fainting at the funeral reception, Taehyun’s friends had taken to moving in with him for an extended amount of time.

“There’s no way we’re leaving you alone,” Soobin had stated firmly when Taehyun had tried to protest. “It’s not safe. No space? Come on, Taehyun, this house is ridiculously large, even when it was for you and Beomgyu. There’s enough space for the four of us to be here together. We’re not going to leave.”

And when Taehyun had asked why they were staying, Hueningkai had answered with a determined tone. “Because we don’t want to lose another friend.”

Their overprotectiveness carried on for several weeks. One of them would always be home to keep Taehyun company, and they’d constantly let him know that he could talk to them whenever they wanted. They'd assign themselves to be his talk-buddies every few days, and would stick to him like glue until it was someone else's turn to be the talk-buddy.

At the beginning, Taehyun didn’t want to accept that he was potentially a schizophrenic. But, after seeing Beomgyu disappear from where he was standing one too many times, he’d finally broken down and accepted that the love of his life really had gone.

That week had been absolutely miserable for everyone in the house. Taehyun would scream, throw things, and then suddenly dissolve into tears at the most random times. Then came the period where all the emotion seemed to have been sucked out of him, and he’d wandered around the house, as listless as a ghost. Soobin, Yeonjun and Hueningkai begged him to accept treatment, but every time he still refused. Two months after Beomgyu’s death, Taehyun's condition was worse than ever.

His friends couldn't get him to talk, to sleep, to eat. He would randomly appear in doorways, before abruptly leaving. He didn't smile, didn't cry, didn't say a word. Once, Soobin found Taehyun sitting in the middle of his room, staring at the wall. He'd tried to get the younger to go to bed, but Taehyun just shook his head and resumed glaring at the white structure. In the mornings, his hyung would smile and offer him food, even though they knew full well he'd only have a tiny bite before not touching it again. They still tried to pretend everything was fine.

His friends tip-toed around the subject of how emotionless Taehyun was being, pretending everything was still going okay. But there was only so long they could pretend.

-----

One day, Yeonjun snapped. He was tired of seeing his friend wander aimlessly about the house, devoid of any emotion. That day had been particularly stressful, since Taehyun hadn’t slept for the past few days and even refused to eat anything for breakfast or lunch. It was only after copious amounts of coaxing and wheedling that Hueningkai had managed to convince Taehyun to eat some fruit.

Yeonjun slammed his hands down on the table, where Taehyun was meekly picking at some strawberries. The boy flinched, but didn’t lift his eyes from the seed-studded fruit.

“Taehyun. Let me book you an appointment.”

“No.”

Yeonjun sucked in a breath. He wasn’t expecting such an abrupt answer. He tried again.

“Come on, Hyun, you’re obviously not getting any better.”

“No.” Taehyun’s hands clutched the fork tight, fist trembling from the pressure.

"Taehyun, look at you! You're like a ghost. If you get treated, it'll get better, I promise."

"Yeonjun," Taehyun said quietly- too quietly, as Yeonjun didn't hear him and carried on.

"Just, accept the treatment. Please. Let them make you better. You're wasting away by refusing help. Look! You're so thin, your skin is literally like paper, and you can barely eat. Come on."

Taehyun let the fork clatter out of his hands and into the bowl. He looked up, and Yeonjun startled when he realised his eyes were brimming with tears.

“Taehyun, please, just let us help you-”

“I said no, hyung. Stop pressuring me! Please, just leave.” The tears were now pouring out of his eyes, thick and fast.

Yeonjun frowned worriedly. “I- this is not healthy. Let me call the hosp-”

“No, don’t,” Taehyun sobbed, hands pressed firmly against his eyes to try and stem the furious flow of his tears. “I- I don’t want them.”

Yeonjun tried again. “Taehyun-”

Soobin and Hueningkai suddenly ran into the room. Soobin and put up a hand, effectively silencing Yeonjun. “Hyung, stop.” Then he turned to Taehyun, placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. “It’s okay, Taehyun. You just come to us when you’re ready.” He nodded to Hueningkai. “Hyuka, stay with him. Make sure he’s okay.”

Soobin took Yeonjun out of the room, and stared at him disapprovingly. Yeonjun stared back at him, then realised what he’d just done. Soobin pinched the bridge of his nose.

He began, “Hyung-”

“I know, I know,” Yeonjun sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I shouldn’t have forced it upon him like that.” He lightly slapped his cheek. "That was stupid of me. I was so, so dumb. And senseless. I should have realised how stressed he was getting by me going on like that. Oh… I feel really bad now."

Soobin sighed too. “I know you mean well, hyung. But that really wasn't the right way to go about talking to him at all." Yeonjun hung his head as Soobin stared him down. Soobin carried on, "There’s no point in forcing him to accept treatment. His condition isn’t life-threatening at the moment, so there’s no hurry.”

“But there is hurry, Binnie,” Yeonjun said, looking up and holding both of Soobin’s hands in his own. “It… It breaks my heart to see Taehyun like this. He’s not like himself. And his condition could turn life-threatening at any moment, Soobin. You know that.”

“It breaks my heart to see him like this as well, hyung,” Soobin said softly, drawing Yeonjun in for a hug. “But yelling at him to accept help isn’t going to make things any better.”

“I know,” came Yeonjun’s muffled voice. There was silence for a bit, then he spoke again. “So would it be best to leave him alone?”

“I think that’s the best option we have right now, hyung,” Soobin replied. “Hueningkai’s gonna be his talk-buddy for the next few days. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find a way to convince Taehyun to get treated.”

-----

Meanwhile, Hueningkai silently handed Taehyun tissues as the blond cried. He didn't say anything, and just sat by Taehyun, not uttering a word. Every time Taehyun used up a tissue, Hueningkai would tear another one out of the box and offer it to him.

“Do you think I’m sick, Hyuka?” Taehyun mumbled, blowing his nose on yet another tissue Hueningkai had given him. The younger boy sat there thoughtfully, watching as Taehyun took another tissue to dab at his red eyes.

“I don’t know, Taehyunnie,” he said at last. “Sure, you think you can see Beomgyu-hyung, and you’ve shown no emotions over the past week, and yeah, maybe that’s not normal. But then again, no one is normal, so perhaps it’s not that bad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s a bit off their rocker in one way or another, and you just happen to be able to see Beomgyu. It’s okay.”

Through teary eyes, Taehyun looked up at Hueningkai and smiled. He patted the younger’s hand. “When did you become so wise?”

Hueningkai smiled sadly at Taehyun. “When I had to watch my smartest friend be reduced to nothing but a shell of what they once were.” He placed his hand on top of Taehyun’s, and smiled just a little bit brighter. “But it’s okay! Becoming wise is part of growing up, isn’t it? And people change. That's a given in life. Now, let’s not talk about such depressing matters. Do you have any games in your house? ‘Cause I’ve been searching for weeks and all I found were these playing cards.”

Taehyun grinned at his best friend, the tears now drying around his eyes. “Wait, let me show you a trick with the cards first.”

-----

When Soobin had been his buddy, there’d been an uncomfortable air of ‘must protect Taehyun from himself at all costs’. There’d been a lot of soft conversations, with concerned glances and quiet offers of help. Yeah, it had made him feel comforted that he knew Soobin would be there for him, but it also made him frustrated at how he was being treated like a sick little child.

When Yeonjun had been his buddy, Taehyun suddenly became stressed all the time. Yeonjun always had a big presence. One couldn’t help but notice him. And with all of his attention on Taehyun, it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. This wasn’t Yeonjun’s fault- he couldn’t help being the way he was- but it still had Taehyun feel on edge for the whole time Yeonjun had been his buddy.

With Hueningkai as his buddy… those days were probably the most normal Taehyun felt since the police came to his door. They’d just talk about silly things, like what would happen if the world turned into food overnight, or theorised about whether there really were such thing as aliens. They laughed and joked and went about their day as if everything was fine. That was one of the things which made Taehyun appreciate Hueningkai so much. He was gentle and kind but also excitable and fun. He didn’t push Taehyun to talk about things that he didn’t want to, instead opting to let Taehyun talk when he was ready. And that day came.

“Hueningkai,” Taehyun said hesitantly as the younger sat down beside him on the sofa.

“Yeah?” Hueningkai handed Taehyun a cookie, stuffing one in his mouth as well. He accepted it, but just stared at it in his hands.

“I just… I want to say thank you, for not forcing me to talk about the… sickness. When I was with Yeonjun-hyung, and Soobin-hyung, they never mentioned it, but the implications of it always hung in the air. You never, ever treated me differently. You even pretended it didn't exist, and I'm thankful for that."

Hueningkai smiled, swallowing the mouthful of biscuit he'd had. "I knew you'd feel either resentful or frustrated or annoyed if you were treated differently. That's why I decided it'd be best just to talk to you as Kang Taehyun, my best friend who I’ve known for years.."

"I'm really grateful you did," Taehyun said earnestly. "And while I appreciate it, I think we might also need to talk about my… condition."

Instead of looking worried or annoyed, Hueningkai just nodded in agreement. "Definitely. While it's good to interact normally, we still need to address the things which are definitely not normal." Hueningkai pointed to the cookie which Taehyun was still holding in his hands. “You gonna eat that?” Taehyun responded by taking a huge bite out of the treat, causing both of them to giggle slightly. Then Hueningkai’s face grew serious, which made Taehyun just a little bit nervous.

“Wait,” Taehyun said. “Can we- can we ease into the subject please? It’s kind of scary to straight away talk about what might be wrong with me.”

Hueningkai nodded understandingly. “Of course.” He hummed, twiddling his fingers as he thought of a topic to talk about. “Ah! I realised that we haven’t really talked about Beomgyu-hyung much. Even at his funeral, we didn’t talk about him.”

Taehyun looked around, nibbling on his cookie apprehensively. “You have tissues ready right?”

Hueningkai patted the box on top of the coffee table. “Right here,” he assured Taehyun. “So, why don’t we talk about the last time we spoke to hyung?”

Taehyun missed the cookie and accidentally bit down on his own fingers. He winced and set it down, sucking on his sore fingers. “I don't remember the last time I spoke to hyung. No wait, I do. It was… it was the day the police officer came to the door.”

Taehyun smiled a little, remembering Beomgyu’s bright, beaming face. “You know how during our lunch breaks the five of us would always meet up to talk? That day, Beomgyu and I had a date. Just a simple one, a quick coffee date in one of the cafes near his workplace. I remember how sunny it was that day, and while I’d complained about the brightness, the whole time I couldn’t stop staring at his face. The sun bathed him in a golden glow, and he looked absolutely beautiful.” Tears pooled into his eyes as he remembered that day. “I remember thinking how lucky I was to have him, and hoping that he’d never disappear.” Taehyun sadly took another bite out of his cookie as a few tears escaped the corners of his clenched eyes. “That thought aged well, didn’t it?” he said bitterly. Hueningkai rubbed his thigh comfortingly.

“It’s okay, Taehyunie,” he said. “It hurts, but it’s better to hurt together than alone.”

Taehyun sniffled, accepting a tissue that Hueningkai offered him. “We talked about the usual fiance things. Wedding plannings, honeymoon plannings, jokes and the simple things in life. At the time, it felt trivial, insignificant- it was just another date out of the many more we thought we’d had.” The tears came faster, and Hueningkai hurriedly handed Taehyun a bunch of tissues. “And then at the end of our lunch break, we parted ways, saying what we always said- ‘I love you, see you soon’.” Taehyun had to stop talking for a few seconds, and close his eyes against the sudden onslaught of memories. The emotions were overwhelming him; a lump was forming in his throat that he just couldn’t will away.

Remembering Beomgyu’s smiling face as he’d bid Taehyun goodbye made his heart ache. He realised just how much he missed Beomgyu- the real Beomgyu, not the ones out of his hallucinations. Taking deep breaths, he opened his eyes again.

“So yeah, that was the last time I saw him. You know how I always end work earlier than Beomgyu, so I was waiting for him to come home when… when it happened.”

Hueningkai smiled reassuringly. “At least your last memory of him was happy, wasn’t it?”

Taehyun dabbed at his eyes. “I suppose so. Why? Is your last memory of him not happy?”

“Oh, no, it is. But it’s also not-so-happy at the same time.”

When Taehyun tilted his head in confusion, Hueningkai explained. “The last time we spoke was over text. A few light conversations, jokes. He said he and I should meet up sometime. It’d been ages since we’d talked, one-on-one. We’d agreed to go get ice cream together, hang out at the park next to our old school.” Hueningkai smiled a bittersweet smile. “The day we’d planned the hangout was the day after the accident.”

Taehyun felt himself tear up on Hueningkai’s behalf. “Oh… hyung was excited for that as well. He told me how much he was looking forward to hanging out with his favourite dongsaeng. That’s… that’s a real shame, Hyuka.”

“Yeah, well,” Hueningkai shrugged, attempting to mask the sadness. “Fate is nothing but cruel, right?” He looked up at Taehyun, smiling a wobbly smile. “It’s fine. I just can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you, though.”

Taehyun peered back at him worriedly. He placed a hand on top of Hueningkai’s, and spoke in a soft tone.

“It’s okay to show how you really feel, Kai. It’s okay. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re really not. I can see how much you’re hurting inside. You don’t have to hide it.”

Even though Taehyun was the one who was supposed to be mentally unstable, the one who was supposed to need someone to support and take care of him, here he was, offering his own support to his friend, because he saw how much he needed it. He smiled reassuringly. “I’m here for you."

Hueningkai had always been a gentle soul. Gentle, compassionate, and kind. He was also delicate. No, he wasn’t fragile- he wasn’t one of those easy-to-break people, but he was just more delicately built compared to others. Losing one of his dearest hyungs, and almost losing his best friend too… well, it was enough to test even the mental wellbeing of someone as strong as Yeonjun. Poor Hueningkai had had to grow up too fast. He’d had to watch as his little, perfect world suddenly crumbled, and had had to hastily cover his own delicate heart in order to try and fix the broken hearts of his friends.

Those five, small words, those five, tiny syllables, were enough to expose Hueningkai’s delicate heart. Yes, he’d cried the day they’d turned up at Taehyun’s door after hearing the news, but that had been about it. He hadn’t been able to cry after that.

Now, he cried with his whole heart. His whole, gentle, loving heart. He cried for his hyung, who would never live a full life; he cried for his hyung’s family, who would never see their son grow old; he cried for his friends, who would never be able to hear Beomgyu’s bright laugh again; and then he finally cried for himself. He cried because he’d never hear his hyung’s comforting voice, never hear his thoughtful words, never see his fingers dance across the guitar strings, never feel his comforting presence in the world.

He cried, poured out all his sadness and grief over the loss of Beomgyu into his tears. He let go of all the pain and devastation he’d experienced from the news of his hyung’s death. He cried because he missed Beomgyu, missed his sunshine-y hyung who would never again grace the earth with his smile. All throughout his tears, all throughout this, Taehyun hugged him close.

Taehyun hugged him tight, wrapping his arms around Hueningkai, holding him as his shoulders shook with the force of his tears.

“Shh… shh… it’s okay, Hyuka. Cry as much as you want. Let it all out,” Taehyun murmured softly, rubbing Hueningkai’s back. “You’ve been so brave. It’s okay. Shh…”

The sobs wracked his body, and Hueningkai cried so forcefully that he had trouble breathing for a few moments.

“I- I shou-ldn’t be cry-crying so mu-uch,” Hueningkai sobbed into Taehyun’s embrace. “Y-you had to su-ffer wo-orse than m-me.”

“Nonsense,” Taehyun said gently. “You were his friend too. You’re allowed to cry for his death.”

“B-ut you-ou h-had i-it so mu-uch worse,” Hueningkai hiccuped. “A-and you ne-ever cri-ed like thi-this.”

“Maybe not, but I have my sickness, don’t I?”

Hueningkai just cried harder. “I-I feel so-o sorry fo-for you, Tae-Taehyunie.”

“Shh… It’s okay, Huening-ah. It’s okay.”

They stayed like that for another half an hour or so, until Hueningkai’s tears had slowed a little.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know how badly you felt,” Taehyun said worriedly as he handed Hueningkai the tissue box. “I should have noticed.”

“ ‘s not your fault, Taehyun,” Hueningkai sniffled, blowing his nose. “You had too much on your plate already.”

“My plate is never too full to look after the happiness of my best friend,” Taehyun replied. Hueningkai just shook his head, smiling.

"You're too caring," he said jokingly. Then his tone grew serious. "Come on, you should focus on yourself."

Taehyun swallowed. "Can I… can I confess something? Promise you won't tell hyungs?"

"Of course."

"I- I'm scared of the treatment. I never thought of myself as mentally unwell before, and now being told I'm sick and need to be fixed? It's scary."

Hueningkai took the half-eaten cookie out of Taehyun’s hands and set it down on the table. “It’s completely understandable to feel scared. It’s okay.” He wrapped his hands around Taehyun’s, gently, to try and soothe their trembling.

“Look,” Hueningkai said. “I’m going to be honest as well. I really don’t… care if you accept treatment or not. Don’t get me wrong, it would be nice for you to be back to your normal self again, but if it scares and worries you that much, it’s okay. We’ll support you whatever you choose to do.” He smiled, holding Taehyun’s hands tight. “Your happiness is the most important thing. Whether you’re sane or not? Pssh. We’re all a little crazy. It’s okay.”

Taehyun began to tear up again, but this time it was out of happiness, not sadness. “Thank you, Hyuka. I- just thank you.”

“Any time, Taehyunie. Any time.” Hueningkai smiled. He squeezed Taehyun’s hands a little. “But seriously though, it would really benefit you if you let yourself be treated.”

“I know. I know.” Taehyun took in a deep breath. “Actually, what I wanted to tell you was that… I decided I was going to accept treatment.” He exhaled. The words, when he’d tried to say them before, had stuck in his throat and built up an enormous pressure inside his chest. But now, after he’d actually said them, he realised it wasn’t really that big of a deal. The words which had worried at his mind for days were, he found, simple and almost relieving to say.

It was a simple thing, saying the words, but the promise was so much bigger. It was a promise of, 'I will become stronger', a promise to overcome what had been a dark, hard time in Taehyun's life.

It was with that confession: those tiny, tiny words with their big, big meanings- it was at that time, that Taehyun began to heal.

-----

Life after that seemed to become so much brighter. The dark cloud of stress and worry and fear that had hovered over their lives lessened. When Taehyun had told Yeonjun and Soobin (with Hueningkai there to encourage him), it would be a lie to say that the two eldest hadn't broken down into tears. Tears of happiness and relief, of course.

The road to recovery wasn’t smooth, though. Taehyun knew this. But, for Beomgyu, he’d endure everything- all the pain, all the tears, all the frustration- because he knew the elder would want nothing more than for Taehyun to be well.

Sometimes everything went fine. Taehyun was going to therapy, and had weekly visits from a social worker who came to have tea and chat. They were pleasant; he was never pressed too much to talk about things, and at times they seemed to even like how he'd stay silent. He had his friends, as well. They supported Taehyun every step of the way, reminding him each day that he had them, and he wasn't alone. He had them, and they would never leave.

Sometimes though, the coddling and gentleness became too frustrating to bear.

If Taehyun's patience had been worn thin by the counsellor's patronising tone, he'd lose his cool and start yelling at them. If the social worker attempted to make him drink that weird herbal tea one too many times, he'd storm out of the room in a flare of his temper. If Soobin tried to get him to eat on a day when the medicine's side effects were particularly harsh, he'd snap and push away his friends out of anger.

Other times, when it was really, really terrible and he just couldn't take it anymore, Taehyun would beg his friends to not make him go to therapy. He'd fall against them, tears staining his cheeks, begging them not to make him go back, because I hate it, please, don't make me go, please, please I hate it, I hate it so much, please. Soobin would look at Yeonjun and Hueningkai, sigh, but say nothing. The next counselling session, however, Taehyun would always clamber into Yeonjun's car with a sullen face, neither resisting treatment nor willing to eagerly participate in it. And then the cycle would repeat.

It was a hard process. But still, Taehyun's friends stuck by him, and it was probably due to their support that Taehyun managed to heal. And three years after Beomgyu's death, he was better. Not completely the same as he'd been before the life-changing day, but better than he had been for a long time.

"Kai!" Taehyun laughed, hitting the younger. "Don't sneak up on me! You know the last time Soobin-hyung did that, I almost poked his eyes out with the brush!"

Taehyun's friends had never really moved out of his home. In a way, Taehyun was grateful that they stayed. It would have been lonely to be in the big house all alone. It was three years after Beomgyu's death, and life had gone on. Sure, it hurt at first, but the sharp stab of pain eventually numbed to a dull, throbbing ache. It would never go away, because their memory of Beomgyu could never go away, but they learned to live with it.

Hueningkai stuck his tongue out. Taehyun tutted. "You're 25 now, yet you still continue to act like a child? This is exactly why Yeonjun-hyung won't let you drive round his car when you ask him to."

"Hmph! Like he let's you drive it around!"

"You know it's because he's afraid I'll have another hallucination and crash the car. You, on the other hand, are just a walking disaster."

"Hey! I'm 25 you know!"

"Yeah, but you're still 15 at heart."

Hueningkai grinned. "Yeah, and so are you." He looked around, spotting at the half-painted canvas propped up on the other side of the art studio. "Another painting of Beomgyu, I see?"

Taehyun covered the painting with the black cloth. "Oh, shut up. He was my fiance, I'm allowed to paint him. Besides, it's actually a painting of all of us. It's not finished yet."

"Aren't you glad they recommend art therapy to you? Yet another good thing that came out of those sessions."

"Yes, because pushing a brush along a canvas saved my life," Taehyun stated sarcastically.

"Yeah well, it did, didn't it?"

"...Okay yeah, but that's not the point!"

Ever since his counsellor had mentioned art therapy to help him heal, Taehyun hadn't stopped painting, even after his treatment ended. He found that expressing his feelings through colours and paints helped relieve him from all his stress and worries. At first, though his understanding of shades and tones were not the best, he persevered and now looked proudly at all the canvases of his work displayed all over the rooms of the house. They were far from what someone like Picasso or Turner could do, but they were his own work and in his opinion they were perfect masterpieces.

"Anyway," he said, smiling at Kai. "Was there anything you needed?"

"Nah, just wanted to bother you." Hueningkai cackled as Taehyun jabbed him with the end of a paintbrush.

"You- annoying- brat!" Taehyun said, punctuating every word with a jab at Hueningkai's abdomen. "Go! Shoo! This painting needs to be finished in time for Beomgyu-hyung’s death anniversary!"

"Okay, okay," Hueningkai laughed, retreating. "I'm going! Oh, hi Yeonjun-hyung. Yes, Taehyun! I'm going!" Yeonjun was leaning against the doorway, smiling at the two bickering 25 year-olds.

"Hey Taehyun," he said, walking in and ruffling the other's hair. "How're you doing?"Taehyun looked at him strangely.

"You ask me that like we literally do not live together."

"Ouch," Yeonjun laughed, putting his hands into his pockets. "Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to visit Gyu's grave. His death anniversary is coming up, and I can drive you there if you want."

"Oh, I thought you were taking Soobin on another date," Taehyun said, blinking innocently up at Yeonjun.

"Soobin is visiting his parents and has been away for the past three days. You know that," Yeonjun scolded, flicking Taehyun's forehead playfully. "So do you want me to take you or not?"

"Yes please," Taehyun said, standing up and wiping his hands on his apron. "I'll go get dressed into something more presentable."

"Don't be too long!" Yeonjun called. "It's getting dark earlier than usual since it's winter, and we should go there before the sun goes down."

-----

They reached the cemetery as the sun was low in the sky, bruising the sky with its gentle blue hue. As Taehyun undid his seatbelt, he noticed that Yeonjun wasn't coming out.

"Hmm? Hyung, aren't you coming?"

"I- I came yesterday." Yeonjun said shortly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. Taehyun's heart melted with sympathy. Even after all these years, it seemed Yeonjun was still hurt. He patted the elder's hand.

"It's okay, hyung. I'll go then."

"Don't be too long!" Yeonjun called after him. Taehyun gave him a thumbs up without looking back.

Hands deep inside his coat pockets, he trudged along the snow-edged paths. When he reached Beomgyu's gravestone, he buried his cold nose deeper into his scarf and sighed. He leaned down to touch the cold granite. Gently, he traced the carved letters, smiling to himself.

"Oh, Beomgyu," he said aloud to the chilly winter air. "You were too young to die." Before, the words would have been said with devastating hopelessness. Now, Taehyun uttered them with a joking smile on his face, only a hint of sadness tainting the edges of his lips. A breeze whipped itself through Taehyun's hair and he looked up to see Beomgyu standing there.He startled a little, taking an involuntary step back. It had been a while since he'd last had a hallucination.

The figure smiled, and silently looked at Taehyun. The younger was unfazed by the hallucination- he knew how to deal with them now. But at that moment, he decided it would be nice to talk to Beomgyu - even if this Beomgyu was just a figment of his imagination - one last time.

"It's been ages, hasn't it, Gyu?" Taehyun said, looking back down at the gravestone. Beomgyu looked sadly down at it as well. Taehyun swallowed, and raised his eyes. "... I miss you."Beomgyu smiled a little forlornly, and reached over to pat Taehyun's shoulder.Taehyun carried on, "During the early days, I couldn't even properly mourn because of my illness. And then, I couldn't visit your grave for ages because they said it might trigger the hallucinations to come again." He chuckled. "Guess they were right. This is the first 'vision' I've had in ages, did you know that hyung?" Beomgyu's eyes sparkled as he gazed at the younger. "Anyway, it was only really a few months ago that everything became sort of normal."

Taehyun kicked at the snow. "And I miss you, hyung. I really miss you." He looked up to find Beomgyu giving him a fond look. He smiled back. "But you know. In a garden, one always picks the most beautiful flowers first, right? And besides, I'm doing okay now. I miss you still, so much, but life is full of ups and downs. This was a really big down, but you know…everything happens for the better or worse, and we just have to deal with it.”They stood there in silence, both of them looking down at the gravestone.

"I just- I can't believe that you're really gone," Taehyun said to himself, feeling tears build up behind his eyes. He quickly wiped them away, taking a few breaths before smiling at Beomgyu.

"I shouldn't cry," he said, trying to laugh a little. "I came here to say goodbye, after all." He nudged Beomgyu. "And I know you never liked goodbyes to be sad."

More silence swept through the cemetery, and this time it was a heavier one. The sky was growing darker, and Taehyun knew he'd have to say goodbye. He was reluctant to say the first farewell, and this must have been evident on his face. The elder turned to him and gently touched his nose to Taehyun's. Beomgyu's eyes were sympathetic and kind, with a look of 'it's time' in them. I love you, Taehyun darling.

Taehyun sighed, knowing the time had come. He stood up on his tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss onto Beomgyu's dark hair.

"I love you too, darling. Always," he murmured. Then he closed his eyes and squeezed his fists tight so his nails dug into his palms, just like the psychiatrist had taught him to. When he opened his eyes, Beomgyu was gone. And yet, it didn't hurt Taehyun's heart as much as it used to, when he first saw Beomgyu disappear. He knew that the elder was still with him, inside his heart.Taehyun gazed at the granite engraving of his love's name, before turning around and walking away.

He looked up towards the sky, and sent his thanks to any god that may be out there. He thanked them for letting him have Beomgyu in his life, because, although he may not have had him forever, the moments they shared would be treasured by him until the end of time.

Blue hour faded as Taehyun walked out of the cemetery, and while his eyes were heavy with unshed tears, his heart was light with happiness- and love.

#ahahaha guess who almost went over limit posting this here :)#txt taegyu #taegyu #txt fluff #txt fanfic #yeonbin #tomorrow x together #txt taehyun #taehyun #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #tw//schizophrenia #tw//mental illness

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larinah · 3 years

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August 20th, 19—. I HAVE HAD what I believe to be the most remarkable day in my life, and while the events are still fresh in my mind, I wish to put them down on paper as clearly as possible. Let me say at the outset that my name is James Clarence Withencroft. I am forty years old, in perfect health, never having known a day’s illness. By profession I am an artist, not a very successful one, but I earn enough money by my black-and-white work to satisfy my necessary wants. My only near relative, a sister, died five years ago, so that I am independent. I breakfasted this morning at nine, and after glancing through the morning paper I lighted my pipe and proceeded to let my mind wander in the hope that I might chance upon some subject for my pencil. The room, though door and windows were open, was oppressively hot, and I had just made up my mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighbourhood would be the deep end of the public swimming bath, when the idea came. I began to draw. So intent was I on my work that I left my lunch untouched, only stopping work when the clock of St. Jude’s struck four. The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt sure, the best thing I had done.

It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man was fat—enormously fat. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse.

There seemed nothing in the man strong enough to sustain that mountain of flesh.

I rolled up the sketch, and without quite knowing why, placed it in my pocket. Then with the rare sense of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing well done gives, I left the house.

I believe that I set out with the idea of calling upon Trenton, for I remember walking along Lytton Street and turning to the right along Gilchrist Road at the bottom of the hill where the men were at work on the new tram lines.

From there onwards I have only the vaguest recollection of where I went. The one thing of which I was fully conscious was the awful heat, that came up from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable wave. I longed for the thunder promised by the great banks of copper-coloured cloud that hung low over the western sky.

I must have walked five or six miles, when a small boy roused me from my reverie by asking the time.

It was twenty minutes to seven.

When he left me I began to take stock of my bearings. I found myself standing before a gate that led into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium. Above the entrance was a board with the inscription—

CHAS. ATKINSON MONUMENTAL MASON WORKER IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES

From the yard itself came a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows, and the cold sound of steel meeting stone. A sudden impulse made me enter. A man was sitting with his back towards me, busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. He turned round as he heard my steps and I stopped short. It was the man I had been drawing, whose portrait lay in my pocket. He sat there, huge and elephantine, the sweat pouring from his scalp, which he wiped with a red silk handkerchief. But though the face was the same, the expression was absolutely different. He greeted me smiling, as if we were old friends, and shook my hand. I apologised for my intrusion. “Everything is hot and glary outside,” I said. “This seems an oasis in the wilderness.” “I don’t know about the oasis,” he replied, “but it certainly’s hot, as hot as hell. Take a seat, sir!” He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which he was at work, and I sat down. “That’s a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got hold of,” I said. He shook his head. “In a way it is,” he answered; “the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, but there’s a big flaw at the back, though I don’t expect you’d ever notice it. I could never make really a good job of a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in the summer like this; it wouldn’t mind the blasted heat. But wait till the winter comes. There’s nothing quite like frost to find out the weak points in stone.” “Then what’s it for?” I asked. The man burst out laughing. “You’d hardly believe me if I was to tell you it’s for an exhibition, but it’s the truth. Artists have exhibitions: so do grocers and butchers; we have them too. All the latest little things in headstones, you know.” He went on to talk of marbles, which sort best withstood wind and rain, and which were easiest to work; then of his garden and a new sort of carnation he had bought. At the end of every other minute he would drop his tools, wipe his shining head, and curse the heat. I said little, for I felt uneasy. There was something unnatural, uncanny, in meeting this man. I tried at first to persuade myself that I had seen him before, that his face, unknown to me, had found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory, but I knew that I was practising little more than a plausible piece of self-deception. Mr. Atkinson finished his work, spat on the ground, and got up with a sigh of relief. “There! what do you think of that?” he said, with an air of evident pride. The inscription which I read for the first time was this—

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES CLARENCE WITHENCROFT BORN JAN. 18TH, 1860 HE PASSED AWAY VERY SUDDENLY ON AUGUST 20TH, 19— “In the midst of life we are in death.”

FOR SOME TIME I sat in silence. Then a cold shudder ran down my spine. I asked him where he had seen the name. “Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere,” replied Mr. Atkinson. “I wanted some name, and I put down the first that came into my head. Why do you want to know?” “It’s a strange coincidence, but it happens to be mine.” He gave a long, low whistle. “And the dates?” “I can only answer for one of them, and that’s correct.” “It’s a rum go!” he said. But he knew less than I did. I told him of my morning’s work. I took the sketch from my pocket and showed it to him. As he looked, the expression of his face altered until it became more and more like that of the man I had drawn. “And it was only the day before yesterday,” he said, “that I told Maria there were no such things as ghosts!” Neither of us had seen a ghost, but I knew what he meant. “You probably heard my name,” I said. “And you must have seen me somewhere and have forgotten it! Were you at Clacton-on-Sea last July?” I had never been to Clacton in my life. We were silent for some time. We were both looking at the same thing, the two dates on the gravestone, and one was right. “Come inside and have some supper,” said Mr. Atkinson. His wife is a cheerful little woman, with the flaky red cheeks of the country-bred. Her husband introduced me as a friend of his who was an artist. The result was unfortunate, for after the sardines and watercress had been removed, she brought out a Doré Bible, and I had to sit and express my admiration for nearly half an hour. I went outside, and found Atkinson sitting on the gravestone smoking. We resumed the conversation at the point we had left off. “You must excuse my asking,” I said, “but do you know of anything you’ve done for which you could be put on trial?” He shook his head. “I’m not a bankrupt, the business is prosperous enough. Three years ago I gave turkeys to some of the guardians at Christmas, but that’s all I can think of. And they were small ones, too,” he added as an afterthought. He got up, fetched a can from the porch, and began to water the flowers. “Twice a day regular in the hot weather,” he said, “and then the heat sometimes gets the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! they could never stand it. Where do you live?” I told him my address. It would take an hour’s quick walk to get back home. “It’s like this,” he said. “We’ll look at the matter straight. If you go back home tonight, you take your chance of accidents. A cart may run over you, and there’s always banana skins and orange peel, to say nothing of fallen ladders.” He spoke of the improbable with an intense seriousness that would have been laughable six hours before. But I did not laugh. “The best thing we can do,” he continued, “is for you to stay here till twelve o’clock. We’ll go upstairs and smoke; it may be cooler inside.” To my surprise I agreed.

WE ARE SITTING now in a long, low room beneath the eaves. Atkinson has sent his wife to bed. He himself is busy sharpening some tools at a little oilstone, smoking one of my cigars the while. The air seems charged with thunder. I am writing this at a shaky table before the open window. The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems a handy man with his tools, is going to mend it as soon as he has finished putting an edge on his chisel. It is after eleven now. I shall be gone in less than an hour. But the heat is stifling. It is enough to send a man mad.

#william fryer harvey #august heat #august 20 #well i don't know why...it's just that i'm sitting here sweating again in mid august in portland

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patchdotexe · 4 years

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Explorers of Arvus: uhhhh / 3.23.21

today's notes are different from usual bc. well. you'll see

LAST TIME ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS i broke my sleep schedule and am barely existing so this is fine. we went back to camp vengeance an uhhhhhhhhhhhh we are now going to fuck off into the forest to die or prove a very important point

oh god we forgot to level up

[mgd voice] BOOSTING NYX TO MAXIMUM LEVEL

im so fuckin tired. what on earth am i doing. how do i level again

k is not here this time but instead we've got mae+nii bonking their heads together to simulate 2 braincells and so far it is not working. i might just have to like fuckin, drop out n zzz partway thru or somethin. would be fun to see how chaotic michael makes charlie in my absensce

oh wait i can do d&dbeyond i think. how do i work this again. will i ever remember i have shield

what level am i. level 6? pog. oh shit i think i have a new thing

. new spell

. 3 total 3rd level spell slots

. bend luck! i can now screw people over on purpose (and will probably use my sorcery points FINALLY)

michael is leveling charlie up bc my brain is apple sos

ASDXFKLJFH I FEEL CALLED OUT zec rb'd my most recent art of MaX with "all i know about xem is that leo likes xem a lot that's the extent of my knowledge" THANK U FOR SUPPORTIN ME ANYWAY

there will be less blaseball distractions than last time bc blaseball is now on siesta. however i will still have MaX brainrot in the background bc i was drawing xem

wyatt mason my beloved

OKAY I GOTTA MUTE THE TACO STAND FOR THE ENTIRETY OF D&D i cannot and will not get distracted. we can do this. we

nintendo wii

we havent even started yet and im already incoherent

ok i have made a decision and that decision is that i do not have the brainpower to play. however i do have the brianpower to take notes hopefully! so ill just like. vibe. this will be a first

oh man im gonan pick up Blink. charlie is gonna be a fucking menace to herself and others

oh my god its not concentration so charlie may continue teleporting while unconscious. thorne is going to hate this

[charlie gets her soul eaten by a ring] [charlie singing dragonston din tei at halvkWAIT JORB HAS A PRIZE

jorb got a thing! an evil genius thing! figure man. fugrine. figuring. help

GREEN HAS DIAGNOSED ME AS TIGREX MONSTERHUNTER i love this

my notes are a disaster. this is so sucks

serotonin is stored in the wiggly zoomy jorb camera

jorb: his pinky is the size of the rest of his fingers

leo: he has a disease

jorb: he has a disease.

jorb: that disease is male pattern baldness

leo: [reduced to tearful giggling for mysterious reasons]

LAST TIME, ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS: we've returned to camp vengeance! taure is still unconscious, which is not very great. camp vengeance is doin better tho!

michael, as part of the recap: ingrid is getting railed by her new girlfriend,

first dice roll of the day is michael rolled a 1. good start

OH THORNE IS AN ARTIFICER NOW thorne took a level in artificer!

"...it's like figuring out the right mathematical equation to summon a gun."

group is gonna go check out the statue that we passed by now that we're not WHAT DO YOU MEAN PONK AND GEORGE CANONICALLY HAVE IBS thats it im not looking at 772 anymore

im doing a bad job of paying attention but at least im Present

SIERON LEARNED FLY AND USED IT ON CHARLIE

michael: what do you want to do with your new flying powers?

leo: how many problems can i cause in 10 minutes

guard 1: ...why is the halfling flying?

guard 2: [rolls a 3 on intelligence] i think they can just do that

groundhogs, the real scourge of the campaign

silje and sieron are gonna hunt a big elk. they got distracted and sieron is putting grass on silje's head. i think

WAIT WE'RE ON WATCH NOW FUCK

we have discovered kali's tragic backstory whoops

update i am. too sleepy for this. good nigh everyone

[ and then leo went and somewhat took a nap! solar, normally playing thorne, started playing charlie in my stead. @jorbs-palace, local hero, started taking shitpost notes in my stead. ]

jorb's ghostwritten notes for leo:

help solar is immediately doing a cursed voice for charlie. charlie can do so many crimes

congratulations, charlie is now temporarily immortal!

dwarves can hit things with their beard

kali wants to know if she's legally allowed to bail

she'd feel really bad if she had to loot our corpses for payment if we died.

we have entered the Tree Zone

one of the corpses is now a flamingo (has one leg)

silje has decided to stab the ground. take that, dirt

kali was large size for a second there but then she remembered to not be a giant

"you accidentally deleted my cat?!"

silje has learned naruto cloning jutsu

be gone, thot

oh boy, making an int check to look at a statue! 11! silje is dumb apparently.

hmm. the statue has divination magic. it's also affecting silje.

SILJE LEARNED A 6TH LEVEL SPELL? its only single use but still

you solved my statue riddllllleeeee

thorne forgot to have eyes

its a shame mac and cheese doesnt exist in the d&d universe

wizards are just math criminals (the criminal part is setting people on fire)

sieron crit fails a check but it was still a 9 because of having +8

thorne is looking for what's weird!

uh oh music got scary, never a good sign

hmm. those leaves over there weren't dead a moment ago.

UNDEAD TROLL TIME! rolling initiative

"it's ok, im a wizard, it's my duty to be correct." "wow! waow!"

woooah here he comes

IT JUST DID HALF SIERON'S HEALTH AS A PASSIVE END OF TURN EFFECT?

thorne backed up and cast eldri- oh, ray of enfeeblement. character development continues

charlie is going to just blink out of existence for a minute.

big chungus has grabbed silje and sieron. BIG CHUNGUS HAS THROWN SILJE AND SIERON.

sieron is using hit and run tactics! isn't good at his extra attack yet though

silje is activating bid bid blood blood blood

thorne uses beam of skipping your leg day. troll's legs are now skipped.

michael is trying to determine what a 'clavicle' is

"does that mean the star trek kind, or the bdsm kind?"

charlie wants to cast magic missile.

charlie has vanished back into the ethereal plane mid-taunt

silje has decided to not get bitten today

silje may or may not have stats.

oh, right, trolls are weak to fire! and also we forgot to upgrade sieron's firebolt. so it actually hurts now!

silje is full of knives and blades and does 31 damage in one turn!

charlie shouts words of encouragement from the ethereal plane. a nearby ghost vibes with this.

🎉 eldritch blast 🎉

kali remembered she hates the sun

silje is enthuasiatic about charlie saying "get him cat boy!"

charlie contemplating using fireball to nuke the troll and also the entire stonehenge

charlie has decided to use magic missile instead, probably for the best

the troll bit at charlie SO POORLY it broke some of its teeth on the ground

charlie is too small to hit

accidentally rolled advantage on a firebolt, so got to learn it WOULD have done 29 damage with a crit but instead it missed because it was not actually with advantage

silje has just sliced open its entire back and made a spray of frozen blood! radical. big boy is down!

we have burned the body because we are not stupid. well, we ARE stupid, but not stupid in the way of leaving a body full of necrotic magic around

[dr coomer voice] i think it's good that he died!

we're also doing a funeral pyre for the other corpses that were around. just to be sure.

our loot is: the satisfaction of a job well done

thorne is cosplaying as charlie

charlie has located the direction troll came from! she found the 'the way to sweet loot' sign

thorne is apparently better at survival checks than our hired guide? wack

we found a viking house! it has: mead, a shield, gravestones,

found a gold coin in the mead! maybe it was thirsty

oh theres a LOT Of coins in there actually. 60 gold and 120 silver!

have successfully pointed out a hole in the DM's logic :)

there was a raven! it cawed and left. ok bye buddy

and that's where we leave it! heading back to camp vengeance next time.

someone rated this session a 7.2 out of 10, which is very specific

good night mr coconut

#leo chirps #ttrpg #explorers of arvus #jorb #thank u based jorb

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miracle-sham · 5 years

Text

Hold Your Wake Softly, for the Dead Sleep Lightly.

| {MaribatMarch2020, Week 3, Day 17: Grave} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| Triggers/Warnings: Major Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Graveyards/Cemeteries, Mentions of Death, Explicit Language/Swearing, Blood and Minor Injuries. |

| It's been six months since she died, so Jason goes to visit her grave. Only sometimes things aren't quite as they seem, and dreams are merely reflections of reality. |

| Word Count: 1794 |

-<◊>-

| A/N: So this is probably going to be my last Maribat March ficlet. I've been super busy and I got ill again (which is why I've not responded to comments yet, sorry!), so I've barely been able to get any writing done, and most of the fics are turning out not great. This fic is the only one that turned out well and I'm happy with it. I've not really got else much to say, so uhh enjoy! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or send me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

-<◊>-

Jason knows he's dreaming. But what strikes him as odd, is that he's dreaming. He's not dreamt since his dip in the Lazarus Pit. Weathered nightmares and night terrors, sure. But not the stuff of rainbows, sugar plums, and happiness, no. Although, this dream he's dreaming isn't exactly that either, so perhaps it shouldn't be that much of a surprise.

He can't quite tell where he is. The surroundings are completely unfamiliar. He's on a roof, that much is clear. But it's not a roof in Gotham, no. Jason knows the roofs of Gotham like he knows the back of his hand. If he had to guess, the roof looked European in style, maybe Gothic French/Parisian if he had to guess specifically. There are poles and fairy lights strung up around the roof, and a picnic blanket is laid out with a basket overflowing with sandwiches, pastries, and fresh fruit.

And as lovely as the scene is, the disconcerting part, is the phantasm sitting beside him. A phantasm in the guise of his lost love. Just sitting there, alive and breathing—with her eyes, so bright, twinkling in the low light—and her dazzling smile, the lovesick one he'd always catch her doing when she thought he wasn't looking.

Jason can almost imagine the warmth of her. But this is a dream, and she's nothing more than a phantasm. So there's no real warmth. It's just his imagination. Not that that knowledge does anything to ease the aching of his wretched and bleeding heart.

He's almost tempted to stay here. To indulge in this love-stricken reverie of a dream. But he can't. Not tonight. Not when tomorrow he'll wake with the dawn and trudge over to the cemetery and lay a bouquet of marigolds upon her grave.

It almost sickens him, to need to leave this place. He'd love nothing more than to hold her in his arms one last time. But she's not real.

Jason feels a need to wake up, for the sliver of peace in the hopes that he'll forget this torturous dream upon waking. It hurts. It hurts so much to be close to her only for her to be a phantasm.

No sooner does he think this, he feels the darkness of the dream ending pull at him. Tugging him away from the rooftop with her and tossing him into the swirling shadows of dreamless sleep.

-<◊>-

Except, he doesn't wake up in his bed from a dreamless sleep like he expected to. No, he finds himself in a bleak observatory with a giant window that has a butterfly design in it. The edges of the room are shadowed, as only the window and a circle in the centre of the room are illuminated with faded blue light.

There's a shimmer in the centre of the illuminated circle, and a young child kneeling on the floor flickers into view. No matter how much he tries to focus, Jason finds himself unable to tell what the child looks like. It's almost as though there's a magical glamour surrounding them that makes it impossible to see their true appearance.

Jason walks to the edge of the circle and stares at the child. They're holding two pieces of jewellery, one in each hand. In their left hand, is a pair of red and black spotted earrings and in their right hand, is a black and green ring.

Two strange small creatures float above the child's hands. The one floating over the ring, is a weird-looking purplish-black cat with green eyes. The one floating over the earrings, is an even weirder looking red and black spotted bug thing.

Jason squints then furrows his brow, the child and the creatures appear to not have noticed him yet. Yet.

“I want to make a wish.” The child says solemnly.

The bug creature looks pained at that statement. “There'll be consequences.”

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” The cat creature pipes up.

The child bites their lip. “I know and I don't care. I want to bring the previous Ladybug holder back to life.”

The bug creature starts to tear up. “Mar—” it pauses. “The previous holder has been dead for six months.”

A chill runs down Jason's back and his mouth becomes inexplicably dry. Fuck, he thinks weakly. They're talking about her. He drags a hand down his face and bitterly blinks back tears, feeling so fucking conflicted.

The child tilts their head to the side and closes their eyes for a minute. “I know. I still want to bring them back. Again, I don't care about the price. The previous holder shouldn't have died.”

The cat creature narrows its eyes at the child. “If you bring the previous holder back with the wish, it won't be an immediate revival. Whoever pays the price for the wish will spend the next six months slowly wasting away as the previous holder returns to life.”

Jason feels sick because as much as he misses her like a lost limb, he doesn't want to subject her to the trauma of coming back to life and digging herself out of her own grave, like he did.

The child hums. “Like a portable charger? Drain the power in one object to recharge the other object?”

Huffing, the cat creature rolls in its eyes. “That's one way of putting it.”

The child nods. “Do I get to choose who pays the price?”

“No, the person who pays the price must be of equal value to the previous holder. For example, you couldn't pay the price because you're too young and don't use a power to achieve a goal.” The bug creature explains, shaking its head.

The child frowns and puts the earrings and ring on. “Okay. Tikki Spots on. Tikki, Plagg, Unify.”

The following flash of bright light temporarily blinds Jason.

“Using the power of the Ladybug Miraculous of Creation and the Cat Miraculous of Destruction, I wish that...—”

The world fades to darkness and silence before Jason can hear the rest of the wish.

-<◊>-

It's the dawning of the wake, with its claggy skies above and claggier mud underfoot; rain splatters against the pavement in a constant solemn cadence. Rusted wrought iron railings are all that stands between him and his love.

Jason treads slowly, shoulders hunched, gaze averted. He's walked this path before. Too many times, the others would claim. He bites his lip and blinks back tears. He follows the path to the marble gravestone, her gravestone.

Falling to his knees upon the grave's soil, he lightly traces the stone's engravings with one finger, silently muttering along.

When he runs out of words to trace, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the stone. Digging his hands into the grass and soil, he can't help but let out a hollow sob.

The minutes ebb by as he slowly recomposes himself. The cold wet mud of the grave clings to him, both that and the rain chills him to the bone.

He sighs, then swallows thickly. “Hey, Mari. I know missed visiting you last week, I'm sorry. I got caught in a bit of a scuffle in our—uh night job.” He quickly glances around incase anyone's nearby, but on such a dreary day like this, there's not another soul in sight. “I attempted to bake your signature macaroons last night. They turned out fairly well but they're shit in comparison to how you get them to turn out.” He chuckles hollowly.

“Last night whilst out on the night job, I found a tiny blue kitten with the most piercing blue eyes ever. Kinda reminded me of you, so I kinda ended up adopting it. I think you both would get along like a house on fire if you met. I was going to bring her today, but well you can see what the weather's like. Don't really want to get the thing sick when it's like this.” Jason rambles idly, not really putting too much thought into what he's saying.

He huffs and pauses for a second, “Actually speaking about last night, I had the fucking weirdest of dreams. And it wasn't just a weird pit nightmare like it usually is—”

He's cut off as a swarm of black ladybirds converge around the cemetery. On autopilot, Jason stumbles to his feet and backs away from her grave, eyeing the swarm with calculative apprehension.

As he does that, the swarm sweep over her grave before dissipating into the sky.

Jason holds his breath, waiting to see what the ladybirds did.

A minute passes in silence, and just as he's about to step closer, a muffled and sickening scream emanates from beneath the grave. Fragments of last night's dream rise to the forefront of Jason's mind. “Fuck!”

He throws himself forwards and starts desperately digging into the mud with his hands. “Come on, come on, come on…” Each second passes as slow as molasses but eventually, the mud starts to gradually give way underneath him.

A grasping hand breaches the surface and starts frantically clawing at the ground. A wave of nausea hits Jason like a brick wall. He hesitates for a split second before fixating on digging up the mud around the hand. With each scoop of mud dug away, the hole around the hand starts to widen and widen until a second hand breaches the surface. With increased desperation, Jason continues to dig and dig and dig.

After another couple of minutes digging, the hole's big enough that Jason can see the coffin shards and ripped scraps of clothing among the mud. He grabs at the arms and pulls with everything he has but the resistance is nearly equal.

Gritting his teeth, he continues to pull until the resistance against him suddenly weakens and he stumbles back, dragging the cor—body of Marinette out of the grave.

Jason let's go of her after a second and drinks in the sight of her, alive and breathing. Under his breath, he whispers, “Mari…”

Frankly, she looks awful. Skin pallid, eyes bloodshot and glassy, freckles faded, hair dull, hands bloody. Her clothes are ripped, muddied, and bloodied. Earthworms, as well as other underground creepy crawlies, fall off her.

Her eyes manage to focus on him for a second but almost immediately after, her eyes roll back and she collapses, unconscious.

Jason rushes forwards and grabs her, to stop her from hitting the ground. Dazed, he fumbles for his phone and calls Bruce. “Marinette's alive.” He immediately blurts out, “She fucking dug herself out the fucking grave and she's unconscious and injured.” It takes all his willpower not to choke on his words.

“We'll ready the medbay. Tim will pick you, he'll be there in five.”

-<◊>-

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| @maribat-march2020 | | @vixen-uchiha |

#Miraculous Ladybug #Maribat #ML x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #JasMari #MariJay #MaribatMarch2020 #MaribatMarch Week 3 #MaribatMarch Day 17 #MaribatMarch Grave #Hold Your Wake Softly for the Dead Sleep Lightly #HYWSftDSL #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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beatnicksellar · 3 years

Text

Marda Loophole: TPB: Issues #7-12

Issue #7 – The Exodus Then: Mada opened her eyes to the inhuman sights and sounds of war Half-men strewn about Bramshott the RCAMC tent soaked in red gore Through the horror she saw her scarecrow the one she treated before Minus a leg he was alive and that was enough to lift her off of the floor Now: Mada opens her eyes to the fuzzy sight of 4 purple children overhead Siphoning energy from a radiant boulder their chant stirs her from the dead A tingle in her toes and sour taste in her mouth the Hole is as Dennis said He labours nearby as the kids stitch Mada together with amethyst thread With the dulling drone done the rock bathes everyone in its immortal hue The old wendigo’s cell unlocks in the uproar allowing her to slip through Before Mada’s blurry eyes the frailest child’s torn from the circuit and slew She can hear the rapacious wendigo sob as she reluctantly continues to chew The plaster walls of the outbuilding begin to buckle from the stone’s potency Suddenly Pope enters the Hole and descends the staircase with much urgency The doctor’s met mid-way by the limping wendigo who embraces him completely Mesmerising him with her wildfire eyes she gladly detaches his loins from his body Dennis returns to find the Hole in shambles with Dot eaten and Dr. Pope screaming He disconnects the kids and requests that Mada give the boys’ lives a new meaning One of the boys grabs a ledger while the other two grip Mada and they begin fleeing Dennis and the wendigo clash by the emitting mound soon buried under the ceiling South Calgary is silent for the first time since the 33 soldiers were secretly dosed But without the hum to calm them they thrashed 33 Avenue like a whipping post Possessed troops overturned the streetcar and chard the theater like it was toast Stiff pedestrians and sate scavengers guide Mada back to her husband Marc’s ghost She mourns over his blood-spattered prosthesis as one boy reads a shard of glass His brothers study the ledger as he peers into the sliver to see what’ll comes to pass ‘We’ll return when the streetcar does’ the scrying boy points to the upturned mass With crazed GIs loose Mada and her boys depart while a curious crow tails her ass… Issue #8 – The Wild Boys ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩ A gayageum plays notes from the concerto called Dorothea The ribbon of rhythm writhes on the airstreams over Korea Baroque tones stir the ancient visage which inspired its idea Eddying over the ocean to hover above a 33rd avenue pizzeria ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫ The melody meanders up 20th street pausing at its composer Three long-haired boys that look 10 but are very much older Standing before Currie Barracks Condo they are of one mourner The unrelated triplets commiserate over their deceased sister ‘I cannot feel her in there’ John the empath of the family confirms ‘I cannot reach her’ Robert retorts ‘all I hear is Dennis and worms’ Scryer James perceives future events but cannot grasp their terms ‘All I see is that the stone has been scattering its ill will like germs’ Treating the condo as if a gravestone they pay respect to her spirit With unkempt heads down the trinity are subdued for a moment Each recalls Dot, the Hole, the old woman then all begin to fidget John pulls a music sheet out of his shorts and whistles a snippet ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♬ James and Robert join him in his performance of Dorothea No. 4 When done John tosses the concerto down onto the sewer floor As they skate through the Loop Mada’s name hangs in every store Coffee shops hum with anticipation over the 70-year-old folklore Around the corner of 35th avenue is where a hungry entity stalks A hefty shadow cast from a vacant lot that limps wherever it walks The boys are too distracted to notice the relic from Pandora’s Box Because a fireball is about to knock’em out of their graphic socksIssue #9 – The Vacant LotYellow barricades protect the rich soil within the vacant lotThough ideal for growth it’s contaminated by junkyard rot Comparable to the toxin that comprises Hausis’ blood clot An

inherit gift from her father and the affects it has wrought Over a century old she has been scarred twice by the stoneAs well Hausis has been forced out of more than one homeFrom her log cabin to that school and finally the catacomb A hole she fled full of a plum, revenge and astral syndrome Dark energy leached into her, those boys and the headless one Wendigo mixed with indigo and once again she was on the run But on the Rez her spirits calmed; she even adopted a grandson It was the last time she felt love as the Sixties Scoop had begun Hungry and hateful she hid her mercy and fed on colonial fears Hitchhiking Highway 16 in the 1970s she traded entrails for tears Retribution for her surrogate sisters who had began to disappear When the stone summoned her home she returned with souvenirs She settled in South Calgary and became a landlord to tasty tenants Bones buried in the vacant lot next-door while lying to their parents A cane sword to assist her limp and cutback on the slaying minutes Serrated steel dentures to masticate and absorb her preys’ essence A century old entity at last content with her damned life up until TONIGHT When her plums return assured and still ripe enough to enjoy a quick biteWhen her bone yard is deemed aseptic and police investigation is in sightHausis lunges at the wild boys only to be repelled by a nimbus of starlight… Issue #10 – The Above People CREEEAK! The tactless teenager forcefully opens the oxidized attic door In search of a white wig for her cosplay getup she stomps across the floor Rummaging through containers she finds something unusual in a drawer A thirteen-year-old letter that when opened clarifies exactly who it is for ‘Aline: It’s with regret and sadness that I write this letter to my daughter’ ‘I had to go to a dangerous place so I left you to be raised by your father’ ‘I never stopped loving you or dreaming of the day we would be together’ ‘When you are ready to meet amass juniper twigs and a magpie feather’ Elated to see her mislaid mother Aline flees the loft in her space-opera costume She sprints across 35 Avenue towards a vacant lot shrouded by juniper in bloom Ripping off a bouquet Aline is unaware that just beyond bodies are being exhumed She spots a pudgy magpie perched on the yellow barricade and plucks at its plume Clutching the vital items the Big Dipper shaped beauty marks on her right arm glows FWOOOOM! A blinding white light descends from overhead lifting her off of her toes Aline suddenly finds herself in a melancholy landscape of stars, clouds and shadows Before her sit 2 enormous Above People who enquire as to her odd-looking clothes ‘It’s for Comic-con’ she roars removing the wig ‘who’re you and where’s my mom’ Sun God laughs as Moon Goddess speaks: ‘We see that you were raise with aplomb’ The electric entities sizzle and pop as they struggle to alleviate Aline’s many qualms ‘Your father fell in love with our granddaughter: the Morning Star he wished upon’ ‘But she had to return to Sky-Country to rid it of the evil her mother had let loose’ Mother Moon details how Feather Woman disobeyed and iniquity was introduced ‘She moved the giant turnip that which protects our portal because she was obtuse’ Mother Moon adds she encased the dummy in indigo stone and made her vamoose That is the past but the portal remains open for dark matter to infest Sky-Country The same stuff brought down with the stone when it crashed in the 19th century Aline accuses her great-grandparents of killing her kin and for spreading villainy The Gods giggle at the allegation clarifying Feather Woman merely has an injury More gen is traded and a deal is struck: if Aline fixes the portal all will be forgiven Above People will help find the Morning Star and teach Aline of her nuclear fusion KRA-KOOM! A fiery comet crashes and Aline emerges from impact like a magician Gazing at the wild boys she states ‘You dudes are my gran and we have a mission’… Issue #11 – The Penultimate Sequential squares spread over an infinitude of glittering stars Panels parted by gutters spanning

centuries between the bars A billboard advertises Marc and Mada’s forthcoming memoirs Christened Marda; Loop denotes the superannuated streetcar Inset in the ad is a shot of Magpie gnawing on a decayed thumb bone Balanced on the sign she spots a bird below who was once well known Magpie cries: ‘Ain’t seen you since you left with THAT there veiled crone’ Alit next to Magpie Crow recalls his ghastly exploits beyond the stone ‘It was Hell’ he croaks ‘The screaming, the silence, the suicide attempts’ ‘It took HER forever to bond with THOSE boys and get over her regrets’ ‘Once she did’ Crow pauses ‘she spearheaded some tantalizing events’ Led by the ledger and scryed images they tracked the fiery GIs’ contempt While 7 indigo infected ones enlisted for Korea 26 settled in Forest City An innocuous epithet for somewhere death stalked the streets regularly Enclosed by thickets it’s where butchers would conceal a mutilated body ‘The Serial Killer Capital’ Crow yelps ‘We lured them out during the 1960s’ Crow clarifies that when the GIs moved there each become a major player: Mad Slasher, Bedroom Strangler, Balcony Killer + the Chambermaid Slayer Mada the bait, Crow the lookout, and 3 wild boys unified became the healer ‘In the forest we’d draw out the purple poison leaving the mortals tamer’ Mada’s nursing background afforded them a home and a baby-grand piano She worked while under pseudonyms the boys penned novels & concertos ‘Forest City was safe and we had obtained almost all of that fugitive indigo’ ‘Almost’ Crow echoed ‘We left for Korea in ‘81 on a plane from Toronto’ Magpie squawks sceptically: ‘And then miraculously back for the 70th Anniversary’ {Had it been that long?} the crone ponders {Why did they whitewash my tragedy?} The veiled woman below the advert grimaces then utters anachronistic profanity Stalwart in stance she shudders when the #7 rolls by renewed for the pageantry… Issue #12 – Giant-Size Finale The fixed indigo stone pulsates expelling the remnants of its space toxin Pumped into the faucets of 22 occupants of the new condo atop its coffin Dragging fingers thru mauve hair they’re rapt by the stone’s dim doctrine They riot inside the structure while outside Mada and her wild boys lock in ‘Try it again’ the costumed Aline guides from inside the infinite sealed loop She has juniper and feather in hand yet something is off within their group ‘That thing’s teeing me off’ Mada breaks from the ring and sits on the stoop The rebuilt #7 streetcar gleams in the parking lot next to an effigy of troops Suddenly…a service door opens and the old wendigo limps out of the edifice ‘You’ Hausis growls at Aline ‘You’re relations with that Metis bastard Dennis’ Mada perks up at the name of the man who inadvertently made her endless ‘Are you?’ Mada asks ‘She sure is’ Hausis sniffs ‘and it’s making me ravenous’ Incensed Mada bares the jagged indigo scar spanning the length of her collar ‘Dennis did this’ she states ‘and orchestrated the 1950 South Calgary slaughter’ Aline has entirely no clue as to what occurred because of her great-grandfather And before Mada can educate her the group is spotted by a police helicopter ‘Freeze Ms. Cranmer’ a voice booms as a squad car pulls up with guns drawn Hausis has been hiding since police uncovered the bodies she had feasted on Clotheslined and cuffed the 145-year-old Cree woman is beaten with a baton Aline, Mada and wild boys watch in horror as Hausis is tenderized like carrion The wild child named Robert tugs at Aline’s skirt pointing at the departing cop car ‘Dot’ the 80-year-old kid chirps ‘The hungry lady has carried our sister’s soul so far’ Mada is not their 4th because it is the frail child Hausis mauled like a chocolate bar ‘We need that granny back’ Aline barks at Mada who turns away rubbing her scar Aline suggests they take the idle #7 and propel it with a trick she has just learned ‘Can I borrow a feather from your crow?’ she asks of Mada who still feels scorned Crow leaves Magpie atop the streetlamp landing beside Aline his feathers formed ‘I am not getting on that ’

Mada repeats just as the crazed tenants emerge armed KRA-KOOM! The refurbished #7 streetcar rockets down 20th street like a fireball Crow and Magpie try to slow the tenants’ progress to the 33rd avenue mini-mall Meanwhile the #7 zips down the parade route until it hits the cruiser then a wall Everyone on the #7 is unscathed and so too is Hausis who’s eating a cop’s eyeball Magpie and Crow flutter in to warn everyone of the approaching horde of tenants The wild boys jump into action with a hand out for Hausis who sees it as penance ‘Doesn’t make me a plum’ she gripes grasping John’s hand as if she is pregnant As the 4 siblings unite clouds appear and a powerful deluge forms within minutes The first drop hits as the vicious throng reaches Marda Loop then the sky cries The drenched tenants lose their momentum as the mauve washes over their eyes The rain relents as does the horde but Mada’s inner ire cannot be overemphasized The wild boys embrace Hausis and in turn Dot whose soul has now been reprisedOnlookers have gathered at the site sad to see there’s no anniversary to reminisce Crow and Magpie peck at the injured police officers as Aline stares into the abyss She apologizes to Mada for her relative’s actions but asks for her not to be remiss ‘We cannot change the past’ she points out ‘But if you help us now we can fix this’The wendigo, the crone, the wild boys, the star-child and the scavengers all return Loitering outside of the Currie Barracks condo building hashing out their concerns Hausis has subsisted with the stone while in exile so she knows where it’s interned In the bowels of the sub-basement they find the ancient rock fading in a slow burn John, James and Robert the perpetual 10-year-olds encircle Aline and embrace her Hausis jeers as the boys kiss their kin then whisper in Mada’s ear: Goodbye Mother The siblings start siphoning the stone’s essence back; Aline waves Magpie’s feather Hausis and the boys convert to stardust they swirl around the stone and then enter Aline and Mada escape the building as the boulder flies backwards thru the nexus Its trajectory bearing straight for Sky-Country where it will rid the land of sepsis The portal is sealed and The Above People welcome Feather Woman and Hausis Back in South Calgary Mada stands in the quiet rubble no longer feeling headless ‘Wanna meet my dad?’ Aline asks of her lithe friend who nods producing a smile Mada calls Crow but he and Magpie are stardust in a constellation of their profile Unveiled Mada and neophyte Aline walk towards a rainbow after their long trial As both fade over the hill stardust diffuses and floats to somewhere worthwhile An End

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howfarethestars · 4 years

Text

all the worst we fear, pt 2

ao3 link

preview:

Frigga’s soft, delicate fingers brushed through Thor’s thick, knotted curls. A worried crease formed in her brow at the dry heat of her son’s skin, the pallor of his usually rosy cheeks. He’d been sick for days now, and even with the best healers in the realm, he hadn’t been getting much better.

Her magic had brought his fever down and put him to sleep. She sat with him still, with his head in her lap, to watch over him. As if she could guard him from the illness that left him like this.

The steady motion of her hand through his hair and Thor’s even breathing had nearly lulled her to sleep, as well, when Thor woke with a whimper. He turned his head to face her and managed a smile.

“Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Tell me a story.”

Frigga hummed. She started to braid his hair back over the top of his ear. His big blue eyes fluttered shut. In that moment, he reminded her so much of that day she’d discovered his powers. Her heart clenched tight in her chest.

“Of course,” she whispered, and began her tale. “Once upon a time, there was a young maiden who lived in the woods. She was raised by witches to practice her seidr and grow in magic. But this girl had a special gift. She could see the future. She used this gift to protect her family. The girl grew up, and she had a...a daughter. She trained her daughter to see the future just as she had…”

Frigga’s voice trailed off once she realized Thor had drifted off again. It was a good thing, too. Tears had begun to form in her eyes. She leaned down, gave Thor a kiss on his forehead and brushed away her own tear from his cheek.

———

Vanaheim’s nights were cool and black. The air hummed with the chirps of nocturnal animals and ancient magic. The moonlight was not dimmed by an overcast sky, and stars shone bright over the camp of the three Asgardian travelers. A day’s trek into the deep forest had left them weary and in need of rest.

Campfire light cast an orange glow on Thor’s skin as he stared at the flames. He held a twig loosely in his hands, turning it over again and again. His eyes, though alight from the nearby fire, were dull and vacant. Even against the harsh light of the flames, he fought to keep his eyes open. But with exhaustion came a harder struggle to keep the visions at bay.

A glimpse of hair, coiled and laced with wildflowers. Thor squeezed his eyes shut. Burlap canvas, sunlight peeking through. The twig in his hand snapped, but Thor couldn’t hear the crack. A single tear rolled down Heimdall’s cheek. Thor gasped and the splintered remains of the twig dug into the skin of his palm. A freshly dug—no, an old gravestone. Loki knelt in front of him, and Heimdall rushed to his side. Thor felt their steady hands on him like one felt a breeze, only just barely enough to know it was there . Was that himself? No, it was Heimdall, crouched in front of that grave. More tears. Whose grave... oh.

The cold grip of dread wrapped itself around his entire being, even as Loki’s magic did its work to stop the vision. His whole body trembled against Heimdall’s chest. When did he fall…? He tried to rise, but Heimdall’s arms held him down. A smudged ring of gold rimmed the edges of Thor’s vision, the product of Loki’s magic. Thor let himself be soothed by it and tried to push away the image of his own grave far from his mind.

(Still, it lingered. A taunting laugh, a spit in the face of all he hoped for. There would be an end to this, and his peace would be eternal.)

#marvel #mcu #thor odinson #thor #chris hemsworth #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #thor fanfiction #my writing

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whatzaoverwatch · 4 years

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The Reaper of the Opera Chapter 10: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

This was always such a beautiful scene in both productions. Makes it all the more hectic that I have to write an action sequence.

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Dawn/Graveyard

You couldn’t take another second within the theatre. Just when you had thought all of your troubles were over, the Reaper had taken over your life once more. All you wanted was to just go away and live the rest of your life in peace. Those silly dreams of wanting the spotlight were tainted by his games. Now you were being forced to sing for him again. It wasn’t even him that wanted you to, now Genji and the rest of the crew needed you to draw the spirit out of hiding so they could capture him.

It was the last thing you had wanted to do. Your mind was already weak to resist Reapers call. If you had went through with the plan, who knows if you would ever escape from the dark again. Reapers words were clear, he still believed you belonged to him. Genji could see that as well, so it was understandable that he wanted to take advantage of Reapers desire and turn it against him. He was supposed to protect you from this madness, but you were no further away than you did when this all began. There was only one place that you could clear your mind from all this madness. Everytime you found yourself in sorrow or distress, it was always your sanctuary. Rubbing your eyes from your sleepless exhaustion, you looked towards your destination.

An iron bar gate stood before you, barricading a graveyard on the other side of the fence. Tombstones and statues as far as the eyes could see, waiting for the sunrise to peak against its stone. Fog lingering on the ground below to cover your steps. Cloaked in a black robe, you passed the gates and followed along the trail. Wearing a more suited gown for such a location. Looking at each grave with various names and gifts displayed to honor the dead. Memories and signs of mourning plastered on each stone. Shivering from the cold air, you strode through the dawn until you found what you were looking for.

A black marble gravestone carved with the words “[Fathers Name/Last Name] Beloved husband, caring father. Let your song reach the heavens.”. Below the text was a music measure, with notes from a song you remember from long ago. You felt the peace and melancholy of the display. Kneeling before the grave with a sigh. Pulling out a bouquet of flowers to set upon his grave. Red roses that spoke neither of Reaper or Genjis presence.

“Father, it has been so long. Are you well?” You spoke as if he was right there, knowing that you would not receive a response in return, “I wish I could say the same thing. The reason why I am alone this time is that I am lost.”

Resting your hands on your lap, you tightened your fists to compose yourself. Feeling the tears already building from your eyes. Hanging your head low from the grief you had held onto.

“I am haunted by a spirit, a man who wishes to take me away. But I am struggling to hold onto the light with my fiancé. I don’t know who to turn to anymore,” You quietly sobbed, watching your tears fall onto your dress. Shaking as you tried to compose yourself, “I wish you were here Father. You meant everything to me, it hurts to not hear your music again. I need you here Father. To help guide me like you said you would. To hold me and comfort me like you did long ago.”

Covering your mouth from your weeping, your tears carried into the silent graveyard. Leaving you in your emptiness as you exposed the sadness you had held within. Body shaking from the hiccups and pain in your heart. Trying to relief yourself by the gentle humming of the song engraved on the stone. The lullaby he played to you upon his violin.

Recalling when you rested in your bed, smiling up to him as he played his music. You always asked for an encore, and he always did it for you. To him, you were his little angel of music. As he was to you in return. It wasn’t fair that he had died to his illness. Watching him slowly silence his music forever. No one could play that song as well as he could. He promised that even when he was gone, he would have someone watching over you. Wanting you to continue his song in his place. In your grief, you suddenly heard a gentle whisper from afar.

“Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance…”

Lifting your head, you looked around you to find the source of the voice. Finding no one around, you rose from the ground with caution. Furrowing your brows as you wiped your tears away.

“Who’s there? Is that you Reaper? Or is this someone else?” You called out. Feeling the gentle wind against your face as you heard someone sing your fathers music.

Eyes widening as you could hear the song from one of the mausoleums. Guarded by angel statues to the torch lit tomb within. Its song pulling you closer as you stepped away from your fathers’ grave. Was someone mocking your pain? Or had you truly lost your mind?

“Is this some sort of trick?” You demanded to the music, hearing its song grow louder when you reached the staircase to the mausoleum.

“Have you forgotten about me, my child?” The voice spoke to you, filling your heart with the warmth that your father could once give to you, “Still wandering, still disheartened. I never would’ve left you in such sorrow [Name].”

“Father?” You whispered, stepping up the staircase towards the entrance. Watching the gates open to you ever so slowly. Halting your steps as you felt uncertain about his calls.

“My dear child, you still deny me. I promised you that I would watch over you. Turn away from your doubts, I bring you no harm.” Feeling the longing comfort of his words, your tears returned as you walked up the steps slowly.

“Please, never leave me alone. I need you; I miss you.” You quietly begged through your tears, no longer pulling away from the music. The music slowed ever so gently, leaving just the whispers in your mind.

“I missed you too, my dear. I promise you that and more. Come to me. Come to me my Angel of Music.” Finding yourself at the top of the steps, the gates just before you to slip into. Those last steps were halted by someones shouts.

“[Name], WAIT!” Snapping yourself out of the trance you had found yourself in, you turned behind you to find Genji running to your side, his blade in hand as the other held you from moving. Keeping you from following the voice.

“Genji??” You mumbled, finding him pulling you back from the mausoleum. The song falling silent from your beloveds presence. Standing between you and the gates you were drawn to.

“Stay back! Whatever you may believe, that voice is not your father!” He told you, the protection in his eyes still intact. His back towards the gate to keep his attention on you. Blinking in confusion, you shook your head in disbelief.

“What?” Just as you asked, your eyes looked up to the roof of the tomb.

Perched above was the very mask you had feared to see. Shrouded in his black cloak and guns in each hand. Looming over the both of you like an owl on the hunt. Your alert stance caught Genjis attention, turning around fast enough to guard himself from Reaper as he leapt down from above. Aiming for a shot, Genji knocked him back with his blade. You hurried away from the two men as they glared each other down. Reaper standing at the top of the steps while Genji remained on the bottom steps. The masked man looked over at you then to his opponent beneath him.

“I should’ve taken care of you when I had the chance, Sparrow.” Reaper growled, watching as Genji took on a fighting stance with his sword.

“As I should’ve with you. We end this here.” Genji stated, the green on the blade glimmering against the peaking dawn. Reaper let out a chuckle as he raised his gun.

“Agreed, this will be your final resting place!” He proclaimed, pulling the trigger to take his shots.

Genji, quick on his feet, used the blade to deflect some of the bullet to the various statues around them. Leaping down the steps with a gentle land. You hid yourself behind one of the statues, watching as Reaper followed suit. Firing more towards Genjis direction. The younger man quick on his feet to every shot, letting the bullet ricochet against the steel and onto the fog plastered ground. Leaving Reaper to prepare his shots, the opening enough for Genji to lunge forward with his blade. His sword hitting against the armed guns, protecting Reaper in the crouching position. Leering at his opponent, Reaper kicked Genji back brutally to gain the range to shoot again.

The shot scrapping past the sword to sink straight into Genjis arm. He shouted in pain as spots of blood stained his white sleeved shirt. A grin plastered on Reapers face as he prepared for another shot, caught off guard as Genji rolled to the side to recover. Taking advantage of the lower ground to knock Reaper off his feet. Slamming Reapers back onto the ground as he now found himself at the disadvantage.

Genji leapt from the ground to act swiftly. Kicking away Reapers guns before he could recover. Leaving the spirit vulnerable to his final strike. He could faintly see the dark eyes behind the mask as they drilled into his soul out of fury. The young Shimada steadied his blade over Reapers face. Intent on stabbing into his throat. The anger seen in Genjis eyes as you had never seen them before. Realizing that he truly meant what he said about this being Reapers end. Looking down at the masked man, watching his breath quicken as he struggled against the victor.

Why did he still carry guilt in your heart? Ever since he said you reminded him of himself, it was as if you could understand his struggles. To be murdered in a graveyard is not the way he should go. What he had done to you and everyone else was not forgivable, but it was not the way it should end. To see him near deaths door was too much for you.

“It’s over, Gabriel Reyes,” You looked up while Genji spoke. His hands gripping the blade firmly, “Your haunting ends here.”

He merely chuckled at Genjis threat. His laugh raspy and deep. Narrowing his eyes with a smirk.

“So, she told you who I was. Tell her that man is no more. There is only The Reaper you see before you and I will never be forgotten.”

“We shall see about that.” Before Genji could make the strike, you approached him quickly with a hand over his. The touch drawing his attention away to see you pleading eyes.

“Genji no! Not like this...” You begged; the disbelief seen on swordsman’s face. Reaper even looking at you with a bit of surprise on your act of mercy.

Your eyes set on Reapers first, watching him catch his breath slowly. A faint smirk forming on his lips, something that left you uncertain on what he is thinking. Genji tugged away from your hold,confused by your abrupt request.

“After all that he has done!? [Name] you cannot think that I will let him get away with this,” He demanded, suddenly feeling the presence below him disappearing. The both of you turn to find that the Reaper slowly slipped away into smoke and shadow. Genji stabbed the ground, only to hear the laughter of Reaper, the fog and smoke lifting away with his voice. Frowning deeply, he stepped away angrily, “dammit!”

“Genji.” You stepped towards him, watching him wince in pain from the bullet wound.Trying to help with the injury, you brought him towards the steps from where it all began.

“We could’ve had him [Name]. Why did you stop me?” He asked you with bitterness, watching as you inspected the wound thoroughly, “Is it because you love him too?”

“What??” You were startled by his question. Seeing the envy that was written in his eyes. Giving you the answer as to why he was so determined to kill him so swiftly. Shaking your head, you placed a hand over his lap, “Genji, if you killed him here and now, you would be worse than him. I don’t ever want for you to kill for me.”

“[Name], he almost took you away again. I cannot have you spare him so freely.” He huffed, lowering his gaze to the ground in defeat. You reached over and cupped his cheek. Tilting his head to face you as sunrise became evident over the horizon.

“Then we will go with the plan,” You told him, watching his eyes widen at your acceptance. Nodding as you gave him a smile, “We will capture him, and we will end this nightmare once and for all.”

“But like you said, what if the plan fails?” He reminds you of the hesitation on the plot, leaning into your touch with a gentle kiss to your palm. His breath shaky as you responded.

“It wont, because I have you,” You tell him, his body releasing its tension at your trust. You took his hand gently with a look to the wound, “Come, I cannot mend to this here.”

He followed you suit, taking his blade with him to return to its sheath. Leaving the graveyard in a hurry and closing the gates. The shadows from before lingered against your father’s gravestone, its flowers decaying slowly before the smoke shifted into the mausoleum with a hiss.

“Now, it is a war upon you both.”

To be continued

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